


Sinner has a future

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Venom (Comics)
Genre: Agent Venom - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, Awkwardness, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Developing Friendships, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotions, Employment, Exposition, F/M, First Meetings, Fist Fights, Flirting, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Happy Ending, Homelessness, Homoeroticism, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecurity, Introspection, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Medical, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of medication, Mild Gore, Money, Multi, Nudity, Out of Character, Pain, Physical Contact, Pining, Poverty, Prayer, Protective Peter Parker, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Recovery, Religion, Reminiscing, Roommates, Scars, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Sensuality, Slow Burn, Swearing, Therapy, but like on purpose, exercise, food insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 32,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: Eddie Brock is a new man, with a new lease on life.---A canon divergence of sorts, inspired by the events of Spider-Man: New Ways to Die.





	1. New ways to...?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ludo's "[Topeka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EN231XycNJc)."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie feels a little different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Pain, mild bodily changes

"What _is_ that?! What's happening to me?!"

The white foam, like acid, reacting with the person who had hurt him so much—it burned, and the new Venom shrieked, and it _hurt_ , and Eddie screamed too. And Mac Gargan's beady-eyed Venom picked him up like a rag doll and threw him. Debris, crumbling wood and plaster. Eddie cowered. He seemed to do that a lot, lately... in the past few months. Cowering.

He was in so much pain.

"Thanks for leaving the door open!"

Spider-Man.

They evacuated, at his instruction—Mr. Li leading the way. Eddie scrambled to his feet—a child stood, deer in the headlights, frozen. Eddie grabbed them, running after the rest, doing his best to ignore the pain lancing through him, dust watering his eyes.

Eventually... Eventually Venom and Spider-Man left, and most of the agony had subsided, though his skin still felt hyper-sensitive to even the gentlest touch. Not pain exactly. Close to it though. A raw feeling, like his skin had peeled back, with his fingertips rough against his cheek when he reached up to feel. But... the skin was smooth, unbroken.

The child Eddie had scooped up—had gotten to safety—asked him, "Mr. Eddie? Are you okay?" A regular at the shelter, now that Eddie had a chance to look at him. He and his mom came in for food every day, always early, trying to beat the seemingly endless lines. Usually half asleep.

Eddie blinked. "I—I'm fine." His eyes stung.

The kid shuffled his feet a moment, suddenly shy, but blurted out a "Thank you!" before running over to his mother, who wrapped him up tight in her arms the second she saw him.

Eddie let his head fall back against the wall where he sat, filled with exhaustion.

***

Eddie looked at himself in the mirror, later. It was his own face, still. His gaunt cheekbones and his dark eyebags and his stubble. His thin, fuzzy hair, barely growing back since he had stopped his unsuccessful chemo treatments a week or two earlier. Fully ready to accept his fate... And yet. And yet, here he was, in remission. Still tired down to his bones, skin sensitive from whatever had happened to him, head splitting, but... seemingly okay.

He met his own eyes. They seemed... different. He couldn't be entirely sure, but last he had checked his eyes had been a dark, kind of dull slate blue color. Somewhat of an oily sheen, with the symbiote. Not... this. Milky and strangely opaque, still blue but much paler, with an unusual orange iridescence at just the right angle. He widened his eyes, watching his pupils contract at the slight increase in light, then relaxed, and watched them dilate again. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started from the initial concept of "Eddie finds a baby" into "or maybe Eddie's therapist tells him to get a dog" into something that is conceptually completely unrecognizable and unrelated to either premise whatsoever. Oops???
> 
> I'm also still writing it and the plot is really, really not fleshed out yet. I'm not sure whether it'll have a sad ending or not... I like angst, but it might not work, so it might have a little more happy of ending.... We'll see..........lol
> 
> As you can probably tell, I'm choosing to forego the actual Anti-Venom symbiote/suit (as sick as it is) in favor of something a little more different, and also...a lot more mundane, for the most part. lol  
> This is definitely not gonna be an action-packed story. More like slice of life...
> 
> As an aside........ Anti-Venom DOES look cool and Eddie is hot in New Ways to Live but man the Anti-Venom comics are not........... to my tastes.


	2. Don't be rude.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie goes to a pet store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading chapter two also because I don't want to forget to fix the way AO3 handles chapter notes............why, ao3, why
> 
> Contents:  
> Therapy, a petstore... Eddie's kinda insecure...  
> An OC--I considered using Tanis Nieves for the psychiatrist but I think she would have been .... preoccupied with other things at this point in the timeline?
> 
> I told you it would be mundane.

**A few weeks later** :

Eddie only half-listened to his psychiatrist-slash-psychotherapist, as she laid out some potential changes to his medication regimen. He didn't want to be there, really, but ever since he had... Well. Since the first time they found him, he'd been pressured into seeing her, continuing through his cancer treatment as well. And as a part of his exoneration, the appointments became mandatory...

So he sat quietly, staring down at his hands, at his purplish, bruised looking nailbeds (a recent development) and let her voice turn into a kind of mid-tone drone. She had a _nice_ voice, husky and calm, which didn't keep him from zoning out.

"...Eddie."

He looked up with a sharp breath. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Eddie." She smiled at him.

He nodded.

He was just glad they weren't trying to put him on anti-psychotics again. It hadn't helped, and had been short-lived , as prescriptions went, but the doctors seemed at a loss for how to deal with the symbiote-fueled hallucinations. So... eventually they just stopped trying to suppress his intrusive thoughts and focused on his other problems. Of which he had many.

Dr. Schuyler sighed. "I just want to make sure we do what's right for you, Eddie." She tapped her pen against her leg, glancing down at her papers. "I know you don't believe me, but I care about your well-being, as my patient."

He raised his eyes, to look at her, with his face slightly drawn in thought. "Why do you always do that?" He tilted his head.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"My name." He ran his hand across his head, down the back of his skull, feeling the short hair against his palm. "You always end your sentences with my name."

Dr. Schuyler blinked. "You know something, Eddie?" She grinned. "I didn't even notice. But you're right. I do that a lot, don’t I?" She set her pen and clipboard to the side with a soft, finalized exhale. "I guess it just feels right to do." She clasped her hands in her lap. "So whaddya say, Ed? Come back in a few days, maybe we try to talk through this again, and for now you just keep doing what you're doing?"

Eddie nodded. "I think I can do that."

"Alright. Well, you can make your next appointment at the front desk, as always. And I'll see you soon, Eddie."

She held her hand out, and he took it, briefly.

She had a firm handshake, brusque but not unfriendly.

***

The psychiatrist's office, and most of the medical complex in general, was very close to a strip mall and a grocery store, so Eddie made his weekly little detour.

He didn't exactly have a lot of money, but Mr. Li _did_ pay him. Minimum wage, not enough to pay the bills. He couldn't quite do full time, even in remission, and everything really added up fast... He spent most nights in the homeless shelter or on the streets. But at least he could afford to feed himself.

He stopped outside of the pet store along the strip.

Maybe he could just go inside for a moment.

It smelled as pet stores often do—that cloying, musty stench of rodent bedding and cat food. The bell jingled and he hunched his shoulders as the cashiers and customers alike all briefly glanced over at him. But they all went right back to their tasks, and left him alone, and he deflated.

How insecure he had become, in the past year.

He used to sing to himself, out on the town. Now he wanted to disappear into the floor at the very thought.

He made his way over to the nearest animals—a big tank full of ferrets, wiggling around like fuzzy snakes. One lay fast asleep, half in the food bowl, its tiny ribcage expanding as it breathed. One of its friends hopped over it, stepping on its face. Eddie's mouth quirked up as he leaned down to say, "Hey, don't be rude."

Not that it understood him.

It was a ferret.

He crouched down on his haunches so he wouldn't have to bend over and sat like that for a few minutes, watching the one sleeping ferret. It seemed so content. Only twitching occasionally. He let his forehead lean against the plexiglass.

Eventually, he had to straighten back up, knees protesting.

He made his way around the store. So many birds, in too small cages within tanks. Colorful and noisy. Fish tanks, with the linoleum around them all damp. Turtles, lounging on their little rocks. The rest of the rodents—mice and gerbils and rats and hamsters. So small. And back to the ferrets. The sleepy one had rolled onto its back, beside the food bowl, and Eddie grinned.

"Excuse me, sir—"

Eddie tensed, turning to the young man in the blue vest. An employee.

"Are you interested in the ferrets?"

Eddie looked down at this kid, whose nametag seemed to read "Buddy" (Really? What was this, 1960?), with a mix of uncertainty and embarrassment. "Oh. I... can't." He gestured awkwardly and looked back over to the ferrets. "...May I pet one?" Jeez, he'd really forgotten how to talk to people.

Buddy smiled at him with great enthusiasm and said, "Of course!"

Eddie ended up actually holding one, cradling it to his chest—the sleeping one, awake now. It was a girl, apparently, and she sniffed at him curiously, with tickly little whiskers. He couldn't help but smile, running his finger along the top of her head. He knew he couldn't afford to take her home, though. $65 was a lot for something non-essential, and he didn't have a safe place for her to live, and he'd have to feed her... take her to the vet... He gave her one last little pet before putting her back.

As he turned away—"I hope you consider coming back soon, sir."

Eddie paused, on his way out. He gave Buddy a curt nod and left the store with a soft jingle from the bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really addressed but in my mind, Eddie's therapy (both group and the psychiatry) is being paid for by... the government... or something...... As a preventative measure--like, "Sure he's been exonerated but let's just try to make sure he doesn't start murdering people all by his lonesome. You know. Just in case."
> 
> Also this, presumably, allows them to more easily (and probably illegally) track his treatment and his medications and stuff. Keep an eye on him.  
> I don't think Schuyler is working for The Man or anything but I'm sure they have their ways.


	3. Sit and be fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie buys food and pays for a motel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to watch Sit and Be Fit all the time when I was like, 8.
> 
> Contents:  
> Grocery shopping and food (BIG shocker there, huh), money talk/poverty, eddie taking a nice warm bath, nudity, exercise and recovery

His eyes had mostly returned to their normal color, in the past few weeks. Though they retained that unusual sheen of orange. His skin didn't feel so strange anymore, either. Not unless he was having a really bad day. Eddie gave himself one last look in the mirror before he rolled his sleeves back down and he left the store's bathroom.

He kept thinking about that damn ferret.

But he only made $375, every two weeks. $750 a month. He couldn't justify giving up an entire paycheck to take care of an animal. But... maybe if he tried a little harder...

He liked his job, after all. Doubling his hours might be possible... He knew Mr. Li would say yes, and he felt a lot better lately. A lot less tired. 8 hours a day didn't sound so bad. And he got free meals as part of his work...

He wove his way through the aisles, considering his options. Nothing frozen, obviously. Nothing refrigerated. Had to be able to carry it all—which made cans difficult. But, weirdly enough, not being able to save for rent allowed him to splurge on things like a monthly bus pass, food—it wasn't as though he'd be able to muster up enough money for anything else, after all. So he bought some staples—some bagels and some dinner rolls, as much fruit cups and easy-open canned vegetables as he could justify, jerky, mixed nuts, dried fruit for good measure—and... a donut. Not that donuts cost much. Honestly, it might have been the cheapest thing he'd gotten.

Left him with probably $200 leftover, until payday, next week...Maybe he could stay at a motel for the night.

He had the cashier double-bag everything, and on his way out, stuffed the donut into his mouth.

Way too sweet. He never really liked the glazed ones, but the only other kind they hadn’t run out of was chocolate, and after everything that had happened, chocolate left him kind of nauseous. So he stuck with slightly-too-sugary, regretting it a little bit—not that 75 cents could really be considered wasteful, but still. He grimaced and walked past the pet store, to the bus shelter by the road, and sat down to wait.

***

4 PM, checked into a cheap motel—but it wasn't the worst. It was clean, and quiet. (Mostly.) There was a mini fridge, into which he put one cup of peaches, to chill while he took a bath.

And he took his sweet time in that bath. He had to fold his legs up to lay down, but the water was hot and with the shower curtain drawn it bathed him in a nice dimness, shielding his eyes from the overhead light. He closed his eyes anyway, breathing in the steam.

He almost fell asleep, startling himself when his chin dropped into the water—time to get out, probably. It had cooled significantly, and when he dried himself off and left the bathroom the clock told him a full hour had passed. He lay naked on the bed, possibly not his wisest idea considering the low price of this _particular_ room, but... It was kind of nice. He'd always enjoyed the feeling of the air on his skin, and the sheets were actually surprisingly soft.

Restless, he rolled out of bed and grabbed his backpack—which he always carried with him, and which held his few belongings—and pulled out his neatly folded clothes. A couple of shirts, a few pairs of underwear, socks. Plus his only pair of pants still on the floor in the bathroom, with his only other shirt. He couldn't remember which were clean, but that didn't really matter. He took them all in his arms. Carried them into the bathroom, and ran the bath again, as hot as he could make it. He sat beside the tub to hand-wash each article of clothing until they met his standards. Using the laundromat would have been easier, probably, but he liked the repetitive motion, rubbing soap on cloth, fabric on fabric between his heat-reddened hands.

It was therapeutic, and when he'd first brought it up to Dr. Schuyler, a couple months back, she had encouraged him.

Finally, he let the bath tub drain, hung his clothes up to dry on the shower curtain rod and over the edge of the tub, and returned to the bed.

There was no TV, but he didn't mind much.

He wanted to wait until six to eat, so he sat up against the headboard and entertained himself by running a bit of a bodily check-up. Felt his hair—even and bristly, but soft and already dry from his bath. Stubble—much less soft, and a little patchy. Neck muscles—sore, tense, along with his shoulders and upper back. He dug his fingers into the muscle between his neck and shoulder, trying to ease some of that tension out. Did some neck rolls, shoulder rolls. Stretched his arms out over his head, and back down again. Took a moment to brush his thumb gently down the inside of one of his forearms, over the delicate scars there. They were paler, much finer than just last month, as if they'd gone through a brief period of rapid healing.

He'd lost what little fat he had before, doing chemotherapy, and hadn't gained it back. A lot of his muscle mass had dwindled, too, but he'd gotten some of _that_ back, and felt okay about his body again. Not great about it, but okay. He had good arms, and a fairly firm stomach, even without those washboard abs from just a couple of years ago.

He stretched to reach his toes.

Good to keep in shape, even without access to his old equipment.

He'd improved a lot since his last stint at the hospital. He could manage a fair number of push-ups, again, without too much effort.

Did those, on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Worked up a sweat and an appetite—maybe he should have waited to take that bath, after all.

But it was time for dinner, so he sat on the bed with a bagel, a bit of jerky, and the tin of nuts he'd gotten earlier. Protein, carbs... Not his worst meal, though maybe he should have grabbed a bag of chips or something.

He grabbed his fruit cup from the fridge. He couldn't find the spoon he usually carried with him—it must have fallen out of his backpack at some point—but diced peaches weren't exactly difficult to drink, so he stood in the middle of the room and used his teeth and tongue.

When he finished, he went to his bag and pulled out his beat-up metal water bottle. Couldn't remember where he'd gotten it, but he'd had it since college... Almost certainly. He filled it from the bathroom sink, and put it back with his things before laying back down on the bed.

Still in the nude, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be asking, "Nadia, does this have a point, like, at all?" and the answer is absolutely not. I've just been writing this cause it's therapeutic and I enjoy super mundane stuff like this.
> 
> Though it might pick up a little bit, later.  
> I'm still deciding how I want to approach any potential future interactions with Agent Venom. Because that's definitely on the table as a plot point.  
> (but no eddie/flash, because flash is with betty and i'm not about to split them up)  
> (now, a threesome, i might consider)  
> (maybe)  
> (probably not)  
> There's also obviously the matter of "what has happened to eddie's body" that I should PROBABLY address lmfao
> 
> I have 9 chapters right now (all about as short as the ones I've been posting) and IDK how many there will be........


	4. Come here often?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie asks for more hours and goes to a bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> the usual mundanity  
> Mr. Li is there for a minute, more brief money talk/work stuff, self-doubt/anxiety/restlessness, bars, some super vague refs to the early 2000's comic arcs, flirting  
> Brief appearance of a one-off OC cause I couldn't settle on an in-universe character to use
> 
>  
> 
> i should probably space out/wait to post updates so i don't accidentally catch up with myself but i'm impatient lol

"I'd like to increase my hours, if that's alright."

Mr. Li looked up at Eddie, eyebrows raised slightly. "I wondered when you would finally ask." He reached for his pen. "Full time, I assume?"

"Yes, please." Eddie sat with his back straight and his hands clasped in his lap.

"Alright. Let's talk it over, then."

They spent almost thirty minutes going over the changes, refreshing Eddie's memory on where to go in the early mornings to be let in, ensuring the new schedule sounded right, estimating about how much he'd make in a two week cycle—$600. He might be able to afford a cheap apartment, or so Mr. Li told him. Maybe a studio, or something more if he could find a roommate. But that complicated things like groceries... Mr. Li suggested food stamps. He was right, now that Eddie thought about it. He probably should have applied years ago, but... he never seemed to have the chance.

But now, maybe.

Eddie left Mr. Li's office feeling fairly... energized, if overwhelmed.

He smiled at the people he served. Even the surly old jerk he hated. Who he still felt guilty about punching.

When he returned to his motel room at the end of the day, having (perhaps overconfidently) paid for another night that morning, he felt simultaneously too anxious and pleased with himself to hold still—pace, pace, pace. (What if Mr. Li changed his mind?) Pushups and stretches, working off his nervous energy. (What if Eddie couldn't do it?) By the time he laid down after his nightly prayer he felt both exhausted and far too wired to fall asleep. His brain churned with all the ways he could mess it up, despite this being simply an increase in what he'd already been doing.

Out of bed. Back to pacing.

He didn't like being alone, which didn't help.

But it wasn't as if he had anyone to talk to, other than himself. He certainly wasn't about to go around trying to make friends in the lobby. "Oh, hey, my name's Eddie Brock. Are you staying here too? We have so much in common." Eddie snorted to himself and stopped with his hands on the top of his head—pushed his chest out to stretch his spine, with eyes closed. "Wanna see my scars?" He sighed. "Shit."

He could just hear a car alarm, somewhere out there, and some... _suspicious_ noises from the room next door.

He dug the heels of his palms into his eyelids.

After a moment of deliberation, he left his room, careful not to lock himself out.

It was a little chilly outside, but Eddie appreciated the slight nip inching under his long sleeves. He noted his surroundings, and walked. Good for his heart, and his legs, and not so much for his wandering mind but better than the same racing thoughts shut up into a motel room. He found a bar, and went in. All bathed in yellow light, not particularly busy but not abandoned, either. He sat at the bar itself, folding his hands on the shiny surface.

He wasn't supposed to drink alcohol—doctor's orders—so he didn't.

Instead, he asked for the house drink, virgin—orange juice and ginger ale, on ice, with a little bit of grenadine, and a spoonful of heavy cream. The bartender topped it with a maraschino cherry and a straw and handed it off with a smile. The ginger ale was much higher quality than any Eddie normally drank, with a true herbal bite to it that made the back of his throat tingle. He coughed, wrinkling his nose—but it was good. Hopefully not too expensive. Maybe he should have asked.

Oh well. Too late now.

He sipped at it and looked around the bar. Mostly small clusters of people who he assumed were friends—but you never knew, these days.

He half-wanted someone to come up and sit beside him, half-didn't.

Didn't know how he'd respond anyway.

Couple years ago, a pickup line, maybe. Not serious—Eddie didn't do one night stands—but flirty. He liked flirting. He used to like flirting. Before... well. Turned out holing up in his apartment, on the verge of eviction, desperate for attention (any attention) and terrified at the prospect—turned out that made flirting hard. That and his overall dwindling health on top of it...

Eddie breathed out softly.

"Do I know you?"

He froze, about to take a sip. He let the straw roll away along the edge of the glass as he looked over to the person who had sat beside him.

A couple of inches taller than Eddie, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted. Androgynous, and good-looking. They had brought a drink with them from the far end of the bar, something with curacao in it—electric blue.

Quietly, Eddie said, "I hope not."

"Yeah? You always this twitchy?" They had a nice smile, straight teeth with a slight gap. Dark, dark brown eyes.

Eddie shrugged, looking down at his drink. "It's been a rough year."

The person hummed. They lifted their drink to their mouth, and Eddie sipped his own, both silent for a moment.

"You live around here?" A pause. "Not to pry. I just really feel like I've seen your face before. What's your name?"

Deep exhale.

"Eddie Brock."

The person nodded, thoughtfully, then stopped—shook their head with a grin. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Relief.

"My name's Daryl, by the way." Daryl held out their hand, clearly expecting a shake. So Eddie took it, just to be polite. The touch made the back of his neck heat up, so unused to contact—sure he worked at the soup kitchen-slash-homeless shelter now but he didn’t exactly have a knack for making friends. So maybe his hand lingered a little longer than he intended. Until he realized (noticed the playful glint in Daryl's eye) and pulled back.

Daryl tilted their head. "Do you mind if I buy you a drink?"

"Well—" Eddie glanced down at his mixed juice. He licked his lips and looked back up, mustering one of his old smirks. "I don't mind, if you don't mind..."

Back into the swing of things, just for a moment.

"Oh, I don't mind at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cue me deciding suddenly that Eddie has a thing for pretty brown eyes  
> wait i might have just accidentally described MCU Sam Wilson...........  
> They/Them pronouns only tho! They're not Sam.
> 
>  (i don't think they fucked i think they just flirted and went their separate ways)
> 
> small anecdote:  
> last December (2017), when I was sick, at one point I mixed some vanilla ice cream up with lemonade Gatorade, and more importantly, this fancy ginger ale my mom had gotten, made with real ginger. 
> 
> It was the most intense ginger ale I've ever tried. Good, but to my severely-dehydrated delicate senses, it was spicy. (I am a notorious baby, though) Not like, spicy-spicy, cause ginger's not the same kind of hot as peppers or whatever, but it burned going down and made my nose tingly lol—it was pretty good, and it turns out ginger ale with lemonade (...Gatorade) is not a bad combo, especially with ice cream. 
> 
> Related, marginally, you know what else is good? Gingerbread cake dipped in lemon pudding.
> 
>  
> 
> ...I really like food.
> 
>  
> 
> also i keep meaning to actually get into his job and then i forget.... lmfao  
> this really is focused on down-time and eddie's home life, so to speak


	5. Ex-con seeking forever home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is provided with a questionable roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this despite my better judgment (aka: writer's block has me stuck on chapter 14) 
> 
> Contents:  
> Eddie is a pushover (so is Peter)
> 
>  
> 
> As an aside, while I do occasionally do requests... If you are just dying for someone to write something, and you got a spare bit of money lying around and you JUST don't know what to do with it, consider shooting me an email at WENDTNR @ GMAIL DOT COM to discuss a potential writing commission (or art, [I do that too](http://hoardlikegoldenirises.tumblr.com/commissions))  
> (No smut tho)

"I don't think this is a good idea, Ms. Parker..."

May Parker steered him along the path to the apartment building, though. "Don't be silly, Eddie!" She took him by the shoulders with a smile. "Peter's already got a deposit ready and everything. He's been saving up and he _just_ needs a roommate to pay half of the bills." She squeezed his shoulders before finally letting Eddie go. "Ever since he got kicked out by his friends."

He wouldn't even be able to start paying rent for at least another week, minimum, possibly longer...

But this was an opportunity.

"I don't know. We never exactly got along."

She scoffed. "As if I don't know it."

Eddie made a face, equal parts amusement and exasperation. "I don't have anything like... a TV or anything to contribute."

"Since when is that a prerequisite for moving in with somebody?"

He let his smile overtake his wrinkled brow. She had a point, saw right through his half-baked excuses. But... "I don't have a _bed_."

May coaxed him into the building—he barely even noticed her doing it, just followed her like a dog—and she said, fairly firmly, "You'll figure something out." The utmost confidence.

And... then they were in the half-empty apartment.

And there was Peter Parker, the man who Eddie Brock never really got along with... or vice versa. Peter looked up from moving a couch to the wall, eyebrows shooting up. He stood. "Uh... Aunt May?" He patted the front of his jeans, as if looking for his pockets, and glanced around with some exaggeration. "I thought you said you were bringing a potential roommate to meet me, not a _felon_."

Eddie tugged the edges of his sleeves down a little, down over his wrists.

" _Peter Benjamin Parker_." May planted her hands on her hips. "You know he's been pardoned. He's in need."

 _In need_.

Right. He'd forgotten that's what this was. A charity case.

"I think I should go." He couldn't stop the dark look that overtook his face.

Eddie turned away—but May caught him halfway out the door, taking him by the elbow with a click of her tongue. "I don't think so. Neither of you are leaving until you come to an agreement like gentlemen." She pulled Eddie inside, shutting the door behind her with her foot, and reached for Peter as well. "I raised you not to be so judgmental, Peter. And Eddie, I've seen how you've changed. Let's talk this out."

Oh, joy.

All three of them sat on the couch Peter had been moving, May in the middle holding both of their arms as if they might try to escape. Maybe she was right to do so. Her touch did seem to mollify her nephew, after all, and Eddie too felt much calmer with her warm hand pressed loosely to his elbow.

She wore a saintly, patient smile. The type that, supposedly, parents gave their children. Eddie had seen it on the housekeeper no small number of times, growing up.

She spoke: "What exactly is the problem, here?"

Peter sighed and Eddie stretched his neck as he turned his head away.

"I just don't like him, Aunt May."

Of course Parker, the motor mouth, had been the first to break the silence.

Eddie glowered, staring off at the corner of the ceiling, where a frail bit of cobweb clung. "I don't much care for you, either."

Disgruntled silence between the three of them.

Aunt May shook her head. "I'm sure if the two of you got to know each other you'd find something in common." She folded her hands in her lap—Eddie frowned at the loss of contact, but their arms still brushed, and that grounded him somewhat. "You've both worked for newspapers."

"I appreciate the thought, ma'am, but..." Eddie's mouth twisted. "It's been a while."

She frowned. "I suppose."

"Listen..." Peter put his hand on his aunt's shoulder, with a regretful kind of half-frown. "I really appreciate you trying to help out, Aunt May—I'm sure Eddie does, too—but I really don't know if this is gonna work."

May sighed, and she looked so disappointed it made Eddie's throat tight.

From the looks of it, Peter as well—he met Eddie's eyes with a pained grimace.

"Fine."

"Alright, I'll do it."

May Parker beamed at the both of them, taking their hands and exclaiming, "Oh, I'm sure it will work out wonderfully."

So...

That was how Eddie Brock found himself added to a lease with Peter Parker—Lord have mercy.

Not that he could afford his half yet... But next month, he'd pull his weight. He might even have a decent amount of money left over after rent each month, for food and laundry, and such things.

Maybe he could manage after all.

But he couldn't help a small swell of discontent, remembering that sleepy ferret from the other day.

When had he even gotten his hopes up in the first place? He shouldn't have; he knew he wouldn't be able to adopt her from the start. He _knew_. And yet. Disappointment, hot on the back of his neck.

He slept on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aunt May could probably get either of these boys to do anything she wanted. 
> 
>  
> 
> Me: I need someone for Eddie to move in with  
> Kitausuret: Peter Parker's arrangement with Randy and Fred falls apart. He sees an ad for a roommate, and the guy seems pretty okay. Until they meet face to face. Shenanigans... no, disaster ensues. 
> 
> UNFORTUNATELY I never do get to the "disaster" part even though... that would be very funny..... maybe a different fic, a different time..... As of the most recent chapters of THIS that I have been writing they just kind of begrudgingly tolerate each other with occasional ribbing. 
> 
> Obvs Eddie doesn't know who Peter is (Spider-Man) but Pete knows who Eddie is/was... He also knows that Eddie has been kind of.... in a bad place and trying to better himself. And I think, after the um. _experience_ that was The Last Temptation of Eddie Brock I can see Peter (MY Peter, at least) trying to tread a little lightly and not be a total jackass to someone who he's seen at his most fragile. Even if he doesn't really like him much. Also, u kno, Peter at his heart _does_ care about helping people.  
> (Me, rewriting Peter to be _sort of_ considerate: FucK You Comic Books)  
> The Peter Parker I love is awkward but earnest, really bad at talking to people thus often says the wrong thing, and is absolutely neurodivergent. A lot of the main Spidey comics seem to just focus on the "says the wrong thing" part though and it makes him come across like a jerk. Especially when they try to make him suave or cool or whatever. Like. Who is this. This isn't the Peter Parker who wore a cravat made of neckties after spilling ink on himself. How dare you. 
> 
> All this to say that, while Peter isn't necessarily super nice to Eddie in this, he's gonna be a lot less of a total jerk compared to some of his appearances in the comics ( _Mostly_...)
> 
>  
> 
> I fucking forgot about taxes and gross vs. net income and shit and there's a chance Eddie spends almost his entire paycheck on his half of the rent every month....................... with like... less than $100 leftover....... like, "oh, i'll put $40 away every two weeks and That's My Savings. How do I buy food? Oh, I don't."


	6. Fights like this bring out the best in me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets jumped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> VIOLENCE  
> Not super graphic or gory but definitely violent, with some blood.  
> also more F words than the previous chapters combined, I'm pretty sure.  
> some Smug Eddie as well. (smug, stupid eddie.)

People left Eddie surprisingly well enough alone, these days.

He didn't exactly mind.

Better the occasional funny look or impromptu street-crossing than a cop with a good memory or a vigilante wannabe chasing him down the second they recognized his face. Yet, even with that change... every once in a while someone would get their pants in a twist—

"You're supposed to be so scary, why don't you get the fuck up and act like it?"

Eddie rolled onto his side with a groan.

Now, normally, he wouldn't have let himself get caught like this—three dudes around his age, probably, one with cheap brass knuckles, another with what looked like a beat-up old softball bat. Probably stole it from his daughter's bedroom.

Guy Number Three kicked him right between the shoulder blades, which hurt like hell, on top of the flayed feeling running along his skin in goosebumps—on top of the sting of his bleeding lip, cut open on his own front teeth just a moment earlier—

Eddie laughed under his breath, wheezy and quiet and hoarse.

"The fuck are you laughing at, huh?"

Another kick—he saw stars for a moment, and wondered if he'd have a concussion from that one.

A little dizzy, itching to make his skin stop feeling like a thousand tiny live wires, he pushed himself to his feet. He didn't bother to wipe the blood from his face. Just let it seep from his lip, spreading around his teeth if the metallic penny taste in his mouth was any indication. He grinned, and that burned, but he didn't mind too much as he said, "You're really gonna beat up a guy in remission?"

Softball Bat made a move—time seemed to slow as Eddie dodged backward—

The bat whooshed just shy of his face but he felt hands on him as he crowed "Strike one!"

Brass Knuckles tugged his shoulder to spin him—Eddie took the gut-punch and used his own doubling over as an opportunity to head-butt the guy in the throat, pulling a delightfully choked yelp from the man as they went down together. (Eddie had miscalculated his balance.)

Outstretching a hand to catch his fall against the pavement, Eddie saw movement out of the corner of his eye and used his long legs to kick half-blind, reflexively. As Knuckles tried to knee Eddie in the groin, Eddie felt his foot connect with someone's knee cap—That  was Softball, down like a Jenga tower, with a shout.

The bat clattered to the ground.

But what about the third guy?

"Oh, shi—" Eddie felt arms wrap around his neck, cutting off his air.

Before, that wouldn't have been an issue. But now? He felt that pressure.

The strangler tightened his arms—impressive arms—around Eddie's neck, and pulled Eddie up, unsteady onto his feet. Eddie grappled with him, tried to get some leverage—

Fuck it.

Eddie let gravity do his work for him and shoved them both backwards—

"Fuck!"

They hit the ground with a thud—well, mostly the other guy. Eddie rolled off of him with a harsh, loud gasp the second they landed, just in time for another kick to the head (from Knuckles), this time the side of his head—left ear ringing as he slumped forward with his forehead to the asphalt.

He could see Softball nearby, clutching his injured knee as he shouted "Get him!"

Strangler seemed incapacitated, groaning on his back.

Leaving only Knuckles—who grabbed Eddie roughly, dragging him up to his knees, leaning down with a snarled, "I'm gonna make you beg."

"I usually wait until the third date." Eddie mustered up a dazed grin. "But I can make an exception, just for you."

The next punch connected with the side of Eddie's nose—any harder and it would have broken. He was definitely going to have a black eye or possibly two.

Knuckles half-threw Eddie to the side, and he went down like a collapsing house.

But... something bumped his cheekbone.

Cold, metal, roughly cylindrical.

He rolled onto his back with a grunt, mostly to avoid a kick from Softball's un-injured leg, but he let his fingers curl weakly around the softball bat, bringing it around, using it to support himself as he pushed himself back to his feet.

He ducked Knuckles' incoming punch, almost falling flat on his face as he did so—

Knuckles let out a grunt as Eddie jabbed the blunt end of the bat into his stomach, and stumbled back—

Eddie wound up, and let swing—

Maybe he shouldn't have aimed for the head.

"Jesus Christ!"

Eddie let the softball bat fall to the ground with a clatter, breathing hard, in pain, bleeding from a few different spots on his face.

He sure hoped he hadn't just killed somebody, but that was a lot of blood.

"Frankie! Call 9-1-1!"

The world dissolved around him, and he barely felt his knees hit the ground before slipping away.

...Somehow, miraculously, he woke up neither in a cell nor in a hospital, but on the couch.

He groaned.

Throbbing headache, pulse behind his eyes, stinging-hot lip and ear, skin hyper-sensitive to the texture of his own clothes. His palm hurt, too, probably skinned from the asphalt in the alley.

"Oh, hey." Peter Parker's voice. "You _are_ alive."

Eddie squinted his eyes open, letting his eyes first adjust to the light as he lay on his good side, then turning his head slightly to see Parker in the kitchen with a mug in one hand and what looked like string cheese in the other. His expression seemed like a cross between amused and concerned. Mostly amused.

"I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck."

Peter let his mouth fall open in faux-shock, with an equally exaggerated gasp. "I've never heard such coarse language from you, Mr. Brock." He grinned, setting his mug down to peel a string from his cheese as he said, "Imagine if Aunt May heard."

Eddie snorted. "I'm sure she's heard worse."

"Oh, she's _said_ worse."

Eddie let his eyes close again with a sigh.

Images of his own actions played in his head, like a blow-by-blow replay on loop.

Swing,

Bat meets skull,

Blood.

He was supposed to be better than that, now.

He heard a rustle, and opened his eyes again—nearly had a heart attack when he saw Peter's face scrutinizing him from about a foot away. " _Christ!_ "

Peter grinned. "Oh, did I startle you?"

Eddie gave him a sour look, lip curling.

But... rather than anything smart, he only asked, "Why am I not in jail?"

A raised eyebrow from Parker, as he straightened up and shoved the rest of his string cheese into his mouth whole, like some kind of _heathen_. Spoke with his mouth full, too—"Well," Peter dusted his hands off on his jeans and returned to the kitchen. He took a sip from his mug, to wash down his cheese. Cleared his throat. "I just _happened_ to come across a commotion on my way home, and lo and behold, who did I find but my brand new roommate, passed out in an alley surrounded by dudes who I can only _assume_ attacked you—and boy I hope my assumption is right because the dude you hit with a baseball bat—"

"Is he dead?"

Peter raised his eyebrows pretty high, at that, glancing off to the side as he considered his answer.

"Not _yet_?"

"Thank God." Eddie lifted a hand to his face—it didn't exactly feel good, when he ran it across his cheek and his closed eyes, but... force of habit.

Peter sighed. His mug clunked against the counter top, and his jeans whispered as he walked back into the main part of the room. Eddie cracked open one eye to look at him—the usual tousled hair, with crossed arms and a serious expression creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

"What."

"What the hell happened?"

Eddie forced himself to sit up with a wince and a soft grunt. "Like you said. They assaulted me." He let his forehead rest against drawn up knees, slouched forward. Careful breaths, but his ribs seemed to be one of the only uninjured parts of his body, in that moment. "Recognized me, muscled me into an alley, and beat the shit out of me."

"I mean, you also beat it out of them."

Eddie wrinkled his nose and shot Peter a distasteful look.

"I'm just saying!" Peter raised his hands defensively. "As long as you're not, you know, 'back to your old ways' or whatever..."

Eddie raised his head with a glare. "I'm not."

"Okay!" Peter backed off. "I get it. Self-defense."

"Self-defense." Eddie lay back down with a grunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i say this was gonna be mundane? cause apparently by mundane i meant, "eddie is gonna get the shit beaten out of him at LEAST once"
> 
>  
> 
> wow knuckles the echidna sure is a potty-mouth
> 
> eddie, on a normal day: i'm sad and i hate myself  
> eddie, getting assaulted: i have jokes, you wanna hear my jokes?


	7. Pizza pizza pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finds himself frustrated when Peter comes home with not just pizza, but people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always time for pizza!
> 
> Contents:  
> Eeeeexposition (what else is new), pizza, awkward first meetings/introductions, hiding in the bathroom.  
> Flash and Betty!
> 
> Peter comes off as pretty inconsiderate in this chapter but he's not actually _trying_ to be a dick. Not on purpose.

Eddie tucked away as much money as he could spare—anything that didn't go to rent or food or necessities such as toilet paper went into a large glass jar, cash only, not to be touched. He labeled it with a carefully torn scrap of paper—FERRET MONEY—taped onto the side. A little amendment, in pen, read, "Absolutely not to be touched. That means you, Parker." He kept it on the end table in the corner beside the couch, along with his backpack and sparse other belongings.

Peter, to his credit, minded his own business, and probably barely even know the jar existed. He never went near Eddie's stuff, even going so far as to always sit on the far end of the couch. Though that may have just been a habit, as he seemed to have some very specific little rituals of his own.

For example, every time he came home, Peter would check the lock three times.

Every. Single. Time.

And Eddie had noticed that most mornings started off roughly the same way, on the same schedule. Peter's alarm would go off, audible from behind the closed bedroom door, at 5 am every day... much to Eddie's irritation...

Silence for an hour, lulling Eddie into false calmness—then, finally, Peter would emerge from his room and take a shower, emerge fully clothed, eat breakfast, make lunch, and leave. Always in that exact order. Except weekends, of course, when he focused his energy on grading papers for most of the day.

Eddie himself left around an hour after Peter, most days. He didn't usually need to be at the FEAST center until 9, and would get home around 6 if he left the shelter on time, which he often didn't. Too busy to notice the time, until someone saw him staying late, and sent him home. The apartment was almost always dark when he unlocked the door, and he would take a shower if he felt up to it, or a bath, and try to make dinner. Some days he didn't eat until Peter got home—late, often midnight, or even later. Peter always made something for himself, and always offered some to Eddie out of some kind of misplaced guilt. Like he felt bad just existing with food if Eddie didn't also have something to eat.

He must have gotten that from his Aunt.

This time, though, Peter came home not long after Eddie finished his shower, carting a couple of boxes of pizza, with two people behind him. He set the pizzas on the dining table, and moved out of the way so his friend could roll his wheelchair over to the couch. ( _Eddie's_ couch, but, no, it technically belonged to Peter, didn't it?)

Eddie stood between the hallway and the living room with a frown.

"Hey," Peter turned to face him. "I meant to tell you I was having people over today, and I forgot, and I'm really sorry about that, but to be fair I don't like talking to you—" He paused, with a grimace as if he just realized how rude that sounded. "Sorry. I know I hate when plans get sprung on me but these are my friends, Betty and Flash, and they're here to watch a movie. You can join, if you want."

"...I live here."

Peter made a face. "Yeah, you do, huh."

Betty and Flash both raised their hands with an awkward "Hello" on the part of the latter.

Betty, Eddie recognized—she'd spotted him at the shelter, not long before the Scorpion/Venom busted the front wall down... She clearly remembered, too, but she didn't say anything. Immediately busied herself with the pizza, instead, turning her back to everyone.

Flash, Eddie didn't recognize, but he looked a little... rough around the edges, to be polite. Like maybe he needed to shave more often and get some sleep. (As if Eddie could judge.) But he seemed friendly enough.

"So," Peter gestured toward Eddie, but he looked at Flash. "This is my roommate, Eddie Brock, who you may have heard of, but I sure hope you haven't."

Slight realization dawned on Flash's face. He widened his eyes at Peter. "Dude."

"What?"

Flash raised his eyebrows. "Dude, seriously?"

Eddie turned around, walked right back into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him.

He turned on the sink, to wash his hands—just to give himself something to do—water as hot as he could stand it, but he could hear their voices slightly, still—

"You couldn't have mentioned this beforehand??"

"I forgot!"

"Yeah, yeah, you always forget."

"Listen, man, you know—"

Eddie splashed some of the hot water onto his face.

"I know. It's fine."

"Sorry."

"No, it's—obviously if you're willing to live with him he must be... I don't know."

"May said he was a changed man." Betty's voice cut in, a little quieter.

Eddie dried his hands, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, forehead scrunching up as he frowned and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Do you think he's mad?"

"...I mean, I would be, if I was him. "

"Yeah, I guess."

They stopped talking for a little while, and Eddie let his hands slide around to the back of his neck, feeling at the short hair growing there. He listened to the slightly muffled sounds of clattering in the kitchen... The clunk of the bedroom door opening and closing, soft footsteps, a couple of indecipherable mutters, a laugh, the sound of someone moving a table.

He shouldn't have come home.

He should have stayed out all night.

As if he could have predicted this.

Eventually, the sound of the TV filled the quiet air—the trumpeting noises of production companies, the telltale voice of trailer narration, and then—

A hesitant knock at the bathroom door.

"Hey, Eddie? "

Eddie grunted.

"Listen, can I use the bathroom?" Peter paused. "If I don't go before the movie starts it'll bother me all night." He laughed, clearly a little uncomfortable, trying to ease the mood.

Eddie stood. Straightened his back, loosened his shoulders. Relaxed but in-charge of his body. He made himself as tall and confident as possible as he opened the door, and looked down his nose at Peter Parker. Smirked. "Weak bladder?"

Peter narrowed his eyes, but wisely said only, "Something like that."

They squeezed past each other in the small space of the partial hallway, and Eddie moved his way into the living room. Both Flash and Betty avoided looking at him. Eddie rolled his eyes and would have headed for the kitchen, but the doorway had been blocked off by the kitchen table, which Peter had set the TV up on. Next to the boxes of pizza and a pitcher of water with some cups and plates. He considered the pizza—decided there was plenty to go around, that he hadn't eaten in seven hours, still had a black eye, and that he had every right to be annoyed. So he took three large slices and set them on a plate before pouring himself a glass of water, and taking it all to the couch.

 _His_ couch, goddammit.

If he sat a little heavier than necessary, jostling Betty and Flash, well...

He set his glass of water on the side table which blocked his belongings from the rest of the room, and settled back into the cushions with a sigh.

Peter ended up sitting on the floor in front of Flash, next to the vacated wheelchair, wrapped in a comforter.

None of them spoke, much.

Probably because of Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added self harm tag just in case. Gets brought up more later. 
> 
> note: flash hasn't been given the venom symbiote quite yet I don't think? I wanna say he's recently-ish returned from Iraq, and he and Betty and Peter are trying to get back into the swing of things...
> 
> Also here's the normal layout of Eddie and Peter's apartment—as you might imagine, trying to put the TV in front of the couch makes things a little cramped... Flash has to sit on the end by the coffee table, probably. Even normally it's not an apartment I'd call particularly wheelchair-friendly.  
>   
> Most of the furniture is gifted from like, Aunt May, and friends who were like "hey I have this old coffee table set, do you want it?"
> 
> Peter doesn't use the TV super often, but sometimes he does, and Eddie can watch from the couch if he wants to be uncomfortable, or he can just ignore it. Peter sometimes uses his little armchair tv corner to grade stuff, too, but reallllly they have an overall agreement that Pete mostly stays in his room, since Eddie doesn't actually have any private space of his own... so... you know. Peter may be really bad at dealing with people but he's not a COMPLETE asshole. 
> 
> Just a little bit of an asshole, particularly in this chapter.
> 
> Also Peter really did mean to ask Eddie if it was okay but he COMPLETELY forgot until he was like, opening the front door. ("oh, crap, peter, you idiot, he's gonna be pissed") but obvs since it's just from eddie's pov it just seems inconsiderate.


	8. Full of grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie grounds himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contents:  
> some more therapy  
> brief mention of medication, very brief mentions of past suicide, little bit of the usual low self-worth, the USUAL introspection, some reminiscing, plus: religion and prayer
> 
>  
> 
> i really like the second half of this chapter

Dr. Schuyler eyed Eddie with an inscrutable expression on her face. She adjusted her glasses and said, "Your people skills are questionable, Eddie."

Truly, the understatement of the century. Eddie almost smiled. But he didn't. He shrugged. "I never claimed to be civil, pleasant, or congenial."

"Yeah, I'll say." Schuyler twisted her mouth. Then frowned. "Sorry, Eddie, I shouldn't be casting judgment."

He leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms wide. "Be my guest. You'd be neither the first nor the last." The cut on his lip stung as he spoke, though his injuries had begun to scab and un-swell remarkably quickly. Nowhere near as fast as when _He_ had been _They_ , but faster than normal. Enough for him to notice. He tried to ignore it.

Dr. Schuyler sighed.

It was an... unproductive session, Eddie feeling particularly antagonistic that day, but they had finally settled on a simpler prescription. Just an anti-depressant he'd had some success with in the past, nothing fancy, and a less intense multi-vitamin now that his body wasn't actively trying to destroy itself.

As he stood outside of the grocery store, Eddie turned one of the bottles around in his hand. Newly retrieved from the pharmacy, of course.

Was he improving? Dr. Schuyler seemed to think so, despite Eddie's surliness.

Maybe she was right?

After all, Eddie had been on his best behavior since going into remission. Hadn't tried to kill himself or anyone else even _once_.

Eddie shook his head and put the bottle back into its little paper bag.

He was doing better. He could say that to himself, and mostly believe it.

He might have potentially caved a man's skull in with a softball bat, and the thought made him a little nauseous but in the bag of his mind, his nagging internal voice noted that the man had deserved it... He got what was coming to him.

That if Eddie hadn't defended himself...

Well.

He tried not to think about that too deeply.

About how much other people hated him. How it was his own fault, really.

If it were just would-be vigilantes, maybe he'd be able to laugh it off, like the old days.

But people like Betty Brant and Flash Thompson, they were normal people. Even people like Peter Parker, annoying as he could be—it made Eddie frown, to think about how little they wanted to do with him.

They acted polite (except for Parker) but he could tell by the wary glances, the terse smiles and stiff postures.

They didn't want to be anywhere near him.

Yes, okay. He had killed people, in the past. And perhaps he had not ingratiated himself with either Betty or Flash when he accidentally—fully unintentionally—spilled water on miss Brant. But in his own defense, he had spilled most of it on _himself_. So what if he chuckled—it was funny. _Actually_ funny, not fake funny like Dr. Schuyler's comment about his social ineptitude.

Betty had only frowned a little bit and dabbed at her shirt, but Flash had glared at him, and he had to stop laughing, then. With his shirt and pants soaked, and an empty glass rolling across the floor by their feet.

Great going, Edward.

He looked up at the sky. Dark, and heavy. Blue-black with the threat of rain. A slight breeze nipped at his neck, sneaking underneath the collar of his jacket. He pulled it closer, as he began his walk across the parking lot. It took only a moment for the rain to begin falling, and he hunched his shoulders as he ducked under the cover of the bus shelter.

It was... strange not to be able to simply manifest protection from the elements.

Not to be able to just have a rain coat, or even an umbrella, at the slightest mental nudge. Granted, it had been a while since his relationship as Venom had allowed for such trivialities... Not just before he separated from the symbiote... his symbiote, once. Bu before his cancer had resurfaced, before the adrenaline addiction. Earlier, even. It felt like the last positive memory he had was so distant and faded. Not as far as the four or five years ago when they had first met, of course, but... at least two years.

And when he thought of being happy together, he thought of those old memories, like being welcomed into the town beneath San Francisco, or sitting in the sewers in a calm embrace. Eating an entire chocolate cake in one sitting, together.

For a moment, Eddie couldn't stop a tiny smile from tugging at his lips, as he reminisced.

But most of those good memories had been eroded by new ones.

Bad ones.

Eddie zipped his jacket up as far as it would go with a shiver.

***

Despite his on-again-off-again religious reawakening in the past five or six years, Eddie avoided the church most days. This might have been due to his fairly inextricable association of the church with his lowest moments—suicidal confessions overshadowing positive experiences by a mile—but... still, he had trouble bringing himself to step over the threshold in all but his most dire times of need.

So he avoided churches.

But on Sunday evening, after dinner, after therapy, after his whole day, he pulled his rosary from his backpack just to feel it in his hands—quartz beads worn smooth from use, a gift from Anne early in their marriage. He knelt by the couch that served as his bed, or... less kneeling and more sitting on his knees like a child, letting his head bow until his forehead touched the cushions, bare shoulders slumped and hands clasped in his lap, with the rosary wound around his knuckles.

Eyes shut, he breathed slowly, and didn't pray the rosary so much as touched each bead to ground himself, counting them in his head.

He could hear Peter listening to music in his bedroom, probably grading some homework assignment, with the door cracked open.

Eddie prayed every night, of course. But usually briefly, in the dark, as he lay waiting for sleep to take him. He prayed in the mornings, similarly private and brief.

Sundays, he did this. Some Sundays, a little more structured, Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be. Or some days, like today, just seeking some fortitude, some familiarity.

It had been about two months since he moved in with Peter, and by now the younger man knew what time Eddie did this, and stayed in his room or went out—he went out a lot, actually, not just on Sundays. But he never seemed to be meeting friends. Just said, "I'm going for a walk," and disappeared for a few hours, maybe longer.

Eddie didn't mind too much. He liked the time alone.

That being said... There was something strangely pleasant knowing that a person—even a person such as Peter Parker—sat only as far as a half-closed door, only as far as the other room. A comfort, somehow.

Eddie raised his head.

Rain dripped down the windows, leaving trails through the fog of condensation. Poorly sealed windows, they were. But the sound of rain on glass, mixed with the muffled strains of LCD Soundsystem, relaxed Eddie. He watched the raindrops trickle down for a few minutes before pulling himself to his feet. The rosary went back into his bag, and he padded over to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

He used to move like a predator, coiled grace and the confidence of danger. Then, for a while, he moved like a wounded animal, afraid. Now... he had regained some of his old form, his old balance and strange, lithe motions. But subdued, comparatively. Unlikely he'd ever have that kind of control over his own muscles ever again, but human dexterity and motor control served him well. It felt good, to be strong again. To not get winded by the simplest exertions. To move like he owned his body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I should probably not be updating this so often considering I Am Stuck on the latest parts and I don't wanna catch up w/ my buffer but....  
> no planning, no foresight; we die like men--overconfidently. 
> 
> I'm still not sure whether this fic is gonna have a happy ending or not?  
> I think I want it to though.  
> Ugh I probably need to brush up on the Agent Venom timeline.... maybe I should check out Remender's run from the library again....  
> I still haven't read the comics where Eddie uses up the Anti-Venom yet... I should probably read those. 
> 
>  
> 
> unrelated: you know what the file title of this fic is?  
> "eddie poor ferret"  
> lmfao
> 
> also don't ask me how the hell eddie is paying for his meds, cause i don't know. i gotta assume that, like the mandated psychiatry, they're either paid for by the government and/or his insurance covers it now that he HAS insurance.


	9. Questionable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie apologizes and has a rodent-related realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Eddie being kind of a creeper, apologies
> 
>  
> 
> this one's p short

Eddie stood outside of Betty Brant's apartment, realizing belatedly just how foolish of an idea this was.

Women (anyone, really) did not tend to enjoy when strange men whom they had met only twice showed up uninvited on their doorstep, regardless of whether or not said strange men lived with their friend. The fact that Eddie knew her address _alone_ made him incredibly suspect, which he had realized far too late. But he was here now, standing in front of her closed door.

He knocked.

It didn't take long for her to answer, and when she did, she froze, eyes widening, and expression tightening.

"Forgive me—" Eddie backed away slightly, putting his hands up. "I realize how this must come across." He kept his eyes on the ground at her feet. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior last week but I think... this might have been a mistake."

"Maybe?!" Betty didn't slam the door in his face, though, so that was a good sign.

Probably.

Hopefully.

"I'm... sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

She sighed. "How do I know this isn't a ploy so I feel bad and invite you inside? Then you murder me."

Eddie couldn't stop himself from letting out a huff of laughter. "Not my style." He finally looked up at her, a residual smile on his face. "But I _am_ sorry. I was rude last week, and inconsiderate today. I don't expect forgiveness but I wanted you to know I have no negative intentions or feelings toward you or your boyfriend." He lowered his hands. "I'm going to leave now."

"Um."

Eddie turned away to leave as Betty said, "Bye? I guess."

He glanced over his shoulder with a nod. "Goodbye."

Very much scripted recitation on his part, sure, but genuine. And with a much better result than he could have hoped for, considering the circumstances. By all rights, Betty probably should have slapped him, or threatened to call the police.

Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and prayed no one would recognize him on the way out. Luckily, the universe seemed to be on his side that day, and he barely crossed paths with a single soul, let alone one who knew his face.

For once in his life, good luck.

He took his time walking down the street, taking in the surrounding buildings.

The sky was a clear, crystalline blue.

He found himself humming, half mumbling the words—"Heaven..." He made sure to look before crossing the street, not particularly in the mood to get flattened by a truck, that specific afternoon. "I'm in Heaven—" A couple of kids sprinted past him, shouting, and he fell into just the hum, no words, as he walked.

No one recognized him, no one stopped him, and no one paid him any mind.

He was just Eddie Brock, walking unbothered down the street, like a normal human being, for the first time in years.

It felt... weird.

But not bad.

Letting go of that rage, that reckless irresponsibility, that hatred.

At least for a few minutes.

***

Eddie had been reading about basic ferret care, and the more he read, the more dismayed he became.

Not because he hadn't understood the care any living animal needed, but... He hadn't fully considered it, until he started checking out pet care books from the library, and started thinking about how much of his time working at the shelter took up. He couldn't force a social, diurnal animal to spend hours on end completely alone, and he certainly couldn't afford two of them.

He wouldn't be able to provide the kind of attention a ferret required. He realized that now, with no small amount of disappointment.

He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

Stupid.

He leaned his head back against the couch with a sigh, letting his book slide off of his lap.

It hit the floor with a thud.

"Ugh." He straightened himself up, giving his face a quick scrub with his palms before leaning down to pick up his book. _Rodents for Beginners_ , with a chapter each for several common domesticated rodents, as well as rabbits, though Eddie knew, vaguely, that rabbits were not actually considered rodents. It covered aforementioned rabbits, ferrets of course, guinea pigs, chinchillas... all manner of pets. Gerbils and mice, hamsters...

Eddie paused on the image opening the hamster chapter. Such a round creature...

The chapter started off with the phrase, "Hamsters are great pets for working adults, being nocturnal and fairly low-maintenance compared to some other rodents."

 That gave him pause. Enough to silence the self-deprecation of his internal thoughts. Enough to doubt his doubt.

He grabbed his notebook from the side table and began to take notes on what exactly he might need, and the price estimates the book gave—it was a few years out of date, so probably not entirely accurate, and certainly not specific, but it was a start. It was a start and it had Eddie feeling a small glimmer of child-like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be like Eddie.  
> Ever.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sure there is a real book out there called Rodents for Beginners but I just made this one up.


	10. There is compassion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets a massage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I'm just gonna upload this one too
> 
> Contents:  
> Some awkwardness, a liiiiiittle bit of insecurity, a massage :3c  
> Friendship!!!
> 
>  
> 
> I realize that this is probably what the summary box is for but I Do What I Want

"I know we got off on the wrong _foot_ —" Flash shot Eddie a goofy grin, from where he sat, with his arm around Betty's waist. "But Betty and I thought we could try starting over, maybe."

Betty elbowed him.

"Ow—okay, it was mostly just Betty's idea."

She smiled, satisfied, and leaned her head on Flash's shoulder. "After your kind of alarming apology, I got to thinking." She ran her hair absentmindedly through Flash's hair. "I mean... Maybe don't get into the habit of showing up uninvited to people's homes but... Like I said, it got me thinking. And I... wanted to make up for movie night." Her bit her lip, thoughtfully. "We were inconsiderate, showing up like that and talking about you like you weren't even there, in your own apartment."

Eddie didn't know how to respond.

He'd assumed, and reasonably so, that his apology would be the last time they spoke.

"Miss Brant..." Eddie ran a hand through his short hair. "You were the only one who was nice to me the entire night. You don't need to apologize." He allowed himself a wry smile. "Your boyfriend, here, on the other hand..."

Flash cut in with a quiet "Yeah... About that..." He grimaced, scratching the back of his head. "I'm _really_ sorry. I was kind of a dick."

"Yeah. Kind of." Eddie crossed his arms, lowering his head with a sigh. "Thank you, Betty, for inviting me over. You didn't have to do any of this, but you did. You're very kind. And I appreciate the apology, from both of you."

The group therapist would be so proud of him, had they been present.

 When he raised his head, he found both Betty and Flash giving him their own versions of "bemused but charmed," expression-wise. Or, so he assumed. Hoped.

He shifted awkwardly, only now fully processing how awkward he must have looked standing in the middle of Betty Brant's living room while she and Flash sat on the couch. He glanced around for a chair—he paused, uncertain, but Betty gestured for him to sit, so he sat.

Betty had picked a movie, some Nicolas Cage flick from earlier that year.

Eddie fell asleep halfway through.

When he began to wake up, the room had gotten dark, and the movie had ended. Betty and Flash spoke quietly to each other on the couch, occasionally laughing softly, as Eddie slowly regained consciousness. One of the muscles in his neck had gone all pinched while he slept, from his head lolling to the side, and he grimaced as he passed into full wakefulness. A quiet groan worked its way out of his throat.

Flash and Betty fell silent.

As he rolled his neck, Eddie frowned. "Don't let me stop your canoodling." (Canoodling... What was he, 60?) He rubbed the space between neck and shoulder.

"You okay there, grandma?" Flash reached for the lamp beside the couch, turning the light on with a tug of the cord.

"I'm only 30." Eddie paused. "I slept weird." He stood and rolled his shoulders as well. Shook his arms out. Dug his hands into the small of his back and stretched his spine.

Betty exchanged a glance with Flash, playful. He widened his eyes at her in mock consternation. She grinned at him.

"What." Eddie fell still, though he really wanted to do a lunge or something to stretch his hips.

"Oh," Betty shrugged, still grinning. "Nothing. "

Flash let his forehead fall against Betty's shoulder with a sigh.

A shiver of discomfort tickled up the back of Eddie's neck.

Sudden insecurity; a small wrinkle between his eyebrows, a discontented rise of heat to his face, a slight shift in posture as he half-turned away—"Should I... go?"

"No, no—" Betty raised her hand, like one might to a nervous dog, and softened her smile into something less teasing. "I hope you don't think we're making fun of you, or anything. It's just that Flash gives _great_ massages..."

Eddie blinked. "...What?"

"Your neck. He could work that out for you."

Oh.

They hadn't been laughing at him at all.

He felt himself blush—it had been a while since anyone took him by surprise enough for that, but there it was... warmth spreading across his face. He stammered, "If—if that's... If you don't mind."

How had they gone from seemingly wanting nothing to do with him to _this_? A _massage_?  _What_?

Was this how normal people acted?

It couldn't have been.

Could it?

They were probably trying to trick him, or something. Get him to let his guard down so they could screw him over, just like everyone else—no. He needed to stop that train of thought right there. He was supposed to try trusting people, now. Not everyone was out to get him. He was just a guy with some problems, and they were people with their own problems and lives and goals, and not everyone wanted to hurt him.

So...

He ended up sitting on the couch, sideways, right in the center, with Flash behind him and Betty in front of him, chatting about something he couldn't quite focus on. Having someone at his back... it felt strange. His instincts told him he needed to keep an eye out for danger, he needed to keep an eye on everyone in the room. He forced himself to keep calm, though his pulse kicked up, and he caught himself unconsciously glaring down at his lap as Flash dug his thumbs into his shoulders.

"Jesus, you're tense."

Eddie _tried_ to relax. "Sorry."

Betty shifted, with a questioning noise. "Are you okay?"

He glanced up at her—with her arm propped on the back of the couch, leaning her cheek against it. Nice brown eyes. Eddie looked away, focusing on the way Flash's fingers felt on his neck and shoulders. Warm, and a little calloused.

He muttered, "I'm just not used to being... vulnerable."

Full honesty. Made him hot from his chest to his ears.

"Yeah?"

Flash paused for a moment, but resumed a little gentler, and Eddie sighed as he let his eyes close...

He nearly jumped out of his skin when something brushed his arm a moment later—

Betty gasped, startled by his sudden reaction. Her pulse fluttered under the thin skin of her wrist.

Oh.

Eddie released her arm from his reflexive grip.

"I—" She held her hands up, deliberate in their visibility. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Eddie screwed his eyes shut for a second. Worked to get his pounding heart under control, muscles all tightened up again as he drew in a carefully timed breath and let it back out. In... out. In... out.

"I'm sorry, miss Brant."

"It's... fine. I think. Don't call me 'miss.'"

"Right. Betty."

Flash had drawn back, but his hands settled against Eddie's shoulders again once it was clear Eddie would not hurt his girlfriend. (Purposefully, at least.) He didn’t say anything, either. Just started over from the top, working at all that tension and rigidity, maybe a little more forceful than before but no less effective.

Betty didn't try to touch Eddie again, but she spoke—of her job, of her friend-of-a-friend's latest drama, of a man she had seen stealing from a general store the other week.

It was... nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the movie they're watching is Drive Angry  
> lol  
> I've got it in my head that this fic is set probably in 2011? but I'm not sure what time of year. was thinking October ish, maybe.
> 
> Gee guys, this friendship sure is moving pretty quickly (wtf is "pacing"? idk that one)
> 
>  
> 
> flash making a foot joke:  
> 


	11. Don't forget what they think of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie feels bad about himself and gets a concussion (again).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Peter's kind of a dick, Eddie continues to be very mopey....  
> Injury, blood, mild gore, reference to breaking bone, disorientation/concussion 
> 
>  
> 
> I Swear To God this isn't just for the sake of sadism, it serves a purpose.  
> Actually if I were to refine this story I'd probably swap this with chapter 6 and change the injuries up so that they are more in-line with the situations but for now I'm not gonna fuck with it too much.

"What? what do you mean you guys are friends now?"

"Yeah, I _live_ with him, but that doesn’t mean I'm _friends_ with him—" The door to Peter's bedroom clicked shut, and his voice became muffled, but Eddie could just barely make out "No, why would I _like_ him—" His voice got quieter, still.

 _Jackass_.

Eddie ignored Peter's private conversation in favor of laying out some of the supplies he had bought across the floor. He didn't plan on getting the hamster itself right away, but he wanted to commit. No psyching himself out at the last minute—and better to be prepared for it, beforehand, rather than scramble to get everything ready the day he got it. He'd managed to scrimp together just enough to get the necessities.

Slightly more affordable to start out with just the cage and a water bottle, too.

He looked around the living room, chewing on his lip as he thought.

Obviously, it would need to be out of the way, but not shoved off into some dark corner. Not in the kitchen, for sure. He also didn't want to put it directly beside the couch. He didn't need a hamster scratching around right next to his head at night, after all.

Maybe Peter would let him put it on the other end table, the one in the corner where they usually kept the barely-used television. Though the cage was pretty big, so it might have to go on the floor. They could put the TV in Peter's bedroom, and Eddie could use that corner, maybe...

Yeah.

He'd have to ask.

Later, of course. Not with Peter talking about him in the other room.

Eddie pulled himself back up onto the couch, and laid himself out as full-length as he could, legs sticking out over the edge of the arm. He let his hand dangle toward the floor, fiddling with the cardboard label still attached to the top of the multi-tier hamster enclosure.

He couldn't make out Peter's words anymore, just the unclear hum of his voice. A small relief, there.

They had both established they didn't much care for each other, but Eddie in his loneliness had grown to... appreciate Peter's mildly irritating presence.

So it stung a little, to hear him express his dislike for Eddie outright, even if it wasn't meant to be overheard in the first place.

But... he couldn't really _blame_ Peter. The guy worked with Spider-Man, and as Venom, Eddie and his other had tried (ineffectually) to kill the hero a fair number of times. Even without the symbiote, Eddie had fostered a strong, vocal hatred of Spider-Man... Eddie probably wouldn't have let a person like that through the door had he been Peter Parker in a similar situation. Maybe that made Eddie an asshole, or maybe that made Peter a dumbass.

And it wasn't as though Peter and Eddie had ever gotten along well, in their previous encounters, even without Spider-Man complicating things.  

He got this nagging feeling there was another reason, though, buried in there somewhere, but he couldn't remember.

Anyway, he'd changed, hadn't he?

No, not really.

He still resented Spider-Man. Despite, or maybe because, he had saved Eddie's life more than once. He didn't _want_ his life to be saved by his self-declared nemesis. But Spider-Man did it anyway. Webbed him up, did whatever he needed to do. Made it his duty to save people's lives. Couldn't have a single death even remotely tied to him, even if it meant, ironically, endangering more people. Spider-Man looked at death so black and white, and Eddie hated him for it.

Eddie buried his face in the couch cushions with a grumble, drawing his hand back up and crossing his arms beneath his chest.

***

Eddie still, somehow, did not know the name of the woman and child who always came in. They knew his name, and the child continued to address him as "Mr. Eddie" no matter how many times he told him just "Eddie" was fine. The mother called him "Mr. Brock," and neither would she call him by his first name. But they always smiled at him, and he always found himself smiling back, and then only after they had gone, remembering he never asked for either of their names.

He had to shrug it off.

His day went the same way it always did.

He left the apartment an hour after Peter, and arrived to work at 9. (If he got in early, he ate breakfast before getting started. But he was not early today, so he did not eat.) He served breakfast from 9 to 10 (others served the shifts from 7 to 8, with a prep break in the middle.) For the next two hours, he made his rounds, offered help to anyone who needed it, watched children for busy parents, acted as an audience for a lonely person, cleaned anything that desperately needed cleaning or that proved to be hazardous in some way.. et cetera. At noon he took his lunch break, and got in line with everyone else, while someone else took the serving shift.

More of the same, from 1 to 5, plus evening cleaning.

Some days he acted as little more than a sort of minor security detail-slash-amateur counselor-slash-janitor, waiting for any small task to occupy him. Some days were more eventful.

Like today, for example.

5 pm, just about time for him to take off—he put his bandana and his apron into his little cubby, and grabbed his coat, and as he shrugged it on—

The sound of shattering glass brought him sprinting into the main room, accompanied by a few startled shouts as one of the windows sloughed to the floor in a shower of refracted light. Eddie ran across the room, carefully moving people out of his way—they had just finalized the repairs on the front of the building only a week ago, and now one of the windows was broken? Again? He pushed his way out the front door—just a few surprised passersby, and...

There. Beating pavement down the street—

Eddie took off after him.

His long legs gave him an edge, and he caught the guy a few blocks away from the FEAST Center—

"What do you think you're doing, breaking windows, huh?!"

Eddie tackled him, using his own weight to pull them both down, to twist them around so he took the brunt of the landing, rather than snap this guy's neck on accident. He didn't need to get _arrested_.

He landed on his back, felt something crush into his side with the force of his full bodyweight—Wind knocked out of him, but he kept his grip strong around the kid with a grunted, "Huh?!"

"Sh—" Rich Kid managed to get some leverage, and elbowed Eddie in the nose.

Hard.

Hard enough to break his nose.

Hard enough to snap his head back against the asphalt, littered with chunks of broken concrete.

Eddie felt the back of his skull splinter. Parts of his vision went white, and now... now his arms loosened, as he let out a ragged gasp.

The young man scrambled off of Eddie, off to the side. "Jesus Christ, dude—" His hood had fallen from his face—the most unassuming brunette 20-something Eddie had ever seen, clean-cut and bare-faced, probably spoiled rotten. Scared shitless.

Eddie rolled onto his side, and pain seared up through the small of his back and his ribs, through his head and his eyes. Tears blurred his vision. "Break windows, I'll break your arm—" He groaned. " _Shit_." He could barely breathe, with blood dripping down his face and into the back of his throat.

"Are—" Post-puberty voice crack. "Are you okay?"

His skin had gone all electric again, his eyes burned like hell, his back felt like it was on fire, he couldn't think straight—"No, I'm not okay. _Fuck_." He spit out a mouthful of blood. Curled a hand around his side with a hiss. That came away clean, at least. No blood _there_.

Up onto his hands and knees—the vandal skittered back, but didn't try to run.

Eddie finally took a moment to assess their surroundings, blurry and spinning as they were.

Small parking lot, just off an alley. Maybe? Concrete parking barrier, half-broken chunks of cement—sticking out of it, a bent up twist of rebar, like a bouquet of steel vines—must have fallen on that. Blood on the asphalt, on the debris from the parking barrier. One stained chunk in particular, pointed along one edge—the perfect wedge shape for cracking skulls. Eddie pulled his coat off and tugged up his shirt, perhaps prioritizing the wrong injury, twisting to see the damage. His skin remained unbroken, but the blood vessels underneath, not so much. Hemorrhaging red just under the surface.

He felt dizzier with each throb of his head. His whole face hurt. No, not just his face, his entire head and even parts of his neck. Blood dripped from his ears, from his nose, from the back of his head, into his mouth. He swallowed some and almost gagged.

Eddie grabbed his jacket and stumbled to his feet—touched the back of his head lightly. Very wet, very warm. He wanted to feel more thoughtfully, but he could barely see straight, and he wasn't sure he actually wanted to know how badly he'd been injured. His stomach turned, as he swayed unsteadily.

"If—" Eddie jabbed a finger toward the young man, who still sat on the ground, looking up at him with wide eyes. "If I... ever see you breaking things again—" He grimaced, and turned away, with a dismissive wave. Wobbly on his feet. Precarious.

Somehow, Eddie made it back to the shelter without falling on his face.

He leaned against the entryway with a grumble.

Inside, the residents had resumed a semblance of their routine—avoiding the glass, obviously—and the person taking over after Eddie's shift had already gotten a broom and a dustpan, to begin cleaning up.

He knew Mr. Li would be annoyed with him if he tried to stay and help, even if he weren't injured, so he just took a second to glance around, make sure no one had been hurt. Everything seemed under control. Just a bunch of shards of glass and half of a chipped brick on the floor.

He could get home fine.

Felt like his head was full of gauze, but it was fine.

He lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you're a 20 year old rich kid fucking with homeless people for fun (ugh) and then some guy who's 6'3" chases you down and tackles you in a parking lot and then you accidentally elbow him so hard you break his nose AND his skull and oh no what if you just killed someone—
> 
> eddie, concussed and bleeding profusely from every orifice: I gotta help them sweep (he's... delirious.)
> 
> good thing eddie has that weird anti-venom blood thing going on :D no manslaughter charge for this rich kid!
> 
> Also I don't know... enough about the plot of all these Spider-Man comics or the post-New Ways to Live Anti-Venom stuff (which I haven't read yet) to know what's up with Mr. Negative/Mr. Li so I'm just going to like. Ignore it. lol.
> 
> fuckin  
> me: here's a cute chapter where eddie makes friends  
> me, in the very next chapter: here's a chapter where eddie gets GRIEVOUSLY WOUNDED
> 
>  
> 
> I still have a bit of a writer's block on this story so I probably shouldn't be uploading this yet, whittling further away at my buffer.... but.... eh....


	12. It's what I do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie should be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> medical stuff, injuries/bruises/concussion, peter suddenly being nice, insurance and american healthcare sucks, me pretending peter is more caring than he has been shown to be in the comics--
> 
> @Paul Jenkins, WHY did Peter not show more attention to Flash Thompson whilst Flash was comatose and WHY were the only characters shown to express any care over Flash exclusively female characters including a STRANGER. Because it was 2003 is why but ugh why were the early aughts Like That.  
> ok the scene with the squeaky frog toy was sweet i will admit but peter should have been more attentive
> 
>  
> 
> aka  
> Eddie got FUCKED UP in what should have been a minor scuffle

This was much worse than being accosted. When his brain finally allowed him the luxury of processing his surroundings (a hospital room) someone in a white coat told him he had a fractured skull, a broken nose, a severe concussion, and that he'd bruised his kidney. He just nodded as he looked at the x-rays. He had trouble connecting the black-and-white images to his own body. Was that his skull? Was that a _hole_ in his skull? He eventually sat up, prompting a panicked expression from the nurse, and wrestled with his hospital gown so he could look at his side. Again... priorities: skewed.

Deep, dark bruises. Deep in terms of color—a swathe of purplish-black, edged in red, mottling all the way from his ribs down to his hip, spread across his side and part of his lower back—and deep in terms of interiority. It hurt to touch, it hurt to breathe, and it hurt to move, even as he stubbornly insisted on doing all three at the same time.

His head hurt, too... all the way through. When he reached up, he found it swaddled in bandages, covering his ears in addition to most of the rest of his skull. Very painful.

Hadn't they drugged him?

Apparently not.

Betty and Peter both came by to pick him up, a little while later, with a change of clothes so he wouldn't have to wear his blood-stained shirt.

No Flash, though—he was apparently doing "consultation work" for the military, whatever that meant. (Nothing, to Eddie's addled brain.)

A nurse wheeled him out to the street, and Eddie squinted at the bright lights of passing cars, frowning slightly. He let Peter take one arm, as Betty took the other, and as they pulled him up he squeezed his eyes shut tight. Couldn't take that vertigo, not one bit. He almost fell, but Peter in particular kept him upright.

"Hey, buddy... We've got you."

Eddie wrinkled his nose. "You call all the people you hate 'buddy'?"

Maybe not the best time for animosity, but... Eddie couldn't exactly claim good judgment even on days he didn't have a concussion.

" _Yeah_ , Peter." Betty backed him up.

"Wh—Come on, I don't _hate_ you."

Eddie finally opened his eyes. He couldn't quite see straight—why on _earth_ was he being discharged from the hospital in such a state? Why had he been there in the first place? How was he going to pay for this? Did his new insurance plan even cover this?

"Why'd you bring me here? I can't..." He floundered for his words. "Money."

Peter sighed. "We didn't bring you. Someone called me at work an hour ago—you put me as your emergency contact?"

"Most of it was covered," Betty interrupted, tightening her arm slightly around Eddie's back. "Just not the rest. Which is why we're taking you home."

"This... is why people die in this country." Eddie shot the sidewalk a dour look. "I have a... a full time job... Even if I didn't, that—" He let out a frustrated growl, when he couldn't quite formulate the words.

Peter patted his back. "I know, I know. The evils of capitalism, or whatever. Don't hurt yourself."

Eddie nodded.

Betty laughed. A nice laugh.

***

He couldn't remember most of the trip home.

They left the hospital. He woke up on the couch. No in-between.

His head was _killing_ him, and he'd been lain on his left side, facing the back of the couch, tucked in under a couple of blankets. He needed to use the bathroom, but he felt so sluggish and just the way the blankets had been wrapped around him kept him from trying to move—theoretically, he could easily escape their warm, soft confines but in practice he just didn't have it in him.

The apartment was dark, and quiet, except for the very, very soft sound of the TV over in the corner.

Eddie made a small noise.

TV went right off.

"Hey—" Peter's voice, then just moments later, Peter's hand on his shoulder. "Hey, how're you doing?"

Eddie shoved his face into his blankets with a whine.

"Alive?"

He shook his head.

Peter snorted. "Okay." His hand lingered, still, on Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie mustered up the energy to speak. "Why..." He tilted his head away from the blankets and cushions so he could speak more clearly. "Why're you being so nice?"

There was silence, for a moment.

Careful, deliberate silence.

Then—

"Betty told me—No, you know what—" Peter stood, finally pulling back. "Listen. I just... Yeah, okay, we've never really gotten along, but, I can't look at someone who's hurt and just... Ignore it. You know? You—I mean, you don't have anyone else, you just have this—this stupid asshole, Peter Parker, so I guess. I just... I don't know, man. I'm not..." He sighed again. "I can't just pretend not to be worried. I worry about people. It runs in the family." He laughed, then.

Yeah, May Parker always fussed over everyone, too.

Eddie said, softly, "I've killed people, you know."

Brief pause, as Peter processed that. "...Yeah." He sat down, at the kitchen table. "Yeah, you sure have."

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Eventually, Peter stood up and, from the sound of it, started making himself dinner. He came back out, and stopped beside the couch, though he didn't touch Eddie. His voice was very quiet as he said, "You should be dead."

"Believe me, I've tried."

"No—" Peter huffed in frustration. "I don't mean like that; I mean—literally—you _died_. I heard one of the doctors talking. You should be _dead_."

Oh.

"Are you... Are you sure you're not... You know... _You_?" Eloquent.

"You mean... We?"

"Yeah."

Eddie took a deep breath. "I'm not."

"Okay." Relief, maybe? "Okay, then what the hell?"

As if Eddie knew.

He felt no presence, no voice. No push of emotions, no abstract alien consciousness. Most of the time he felt nothing physically, either. Just all these times danger reared its ugly head, all that sensitivity. That was it. Nothing else. If he looked into the mirror, his eyes would probably be that milky, Tyndall blue—judging by the way his skin felt, at least. But other than that...

There was no symbiote.

Of that much he could be certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has: a concussion, a depressed skull fracture/puncture wound?? which is healing and un-depressing itself, a broken nose, possibly a fractured rib, a bruised kidney, and really nasty, deep bruises along his flank/lower back/side. like that meaty area between your spine and your ribs, around one of the kidneys and along the side. plus two black eyes and possibly weird bruising elsewhere on his head, like under his ears? not 100% sure on that one. either way he probably looks like he got run over by Satan. 
> 
>  "i heard one of the doctors talking" aka "i was eavesdropping on them with my mutant hearing but You Don't Know That"
> 
> I know, I know, I keep hurting him..... sorry eddie lmfao...


	13. I'm sorry 'bout so much baby but I know you'll understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie dreams and drinks a smoothie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Dreams, emotions, reference to the night Eddie and the symbiote met/suicide (very brief/vague tho), reference to the symbiote's abusive words in The Hunger (2003), ummm lack of...emotional... individuality? idk wtf to call it...  
> dizziness, nausea, pain.  
> peter continuing to be like... nice... but also being emotionally constipated about it. lol.

Black and white swirled around Eddie, surrounded him. Cool and warm at once, wet and dry at once, simultaneously murmuring gentle comforts and snide derisions.

_I love you._

_You're worthless._

_I'm sorry._

_I never should have bonded with you._

_I'm sorry_.

Eddie didn't seem to have a body.

Pain. Grief. Regret. Longing. Desire. Fatigue. All Eddie's emotions, all alone. No fingers between his own, no love pooling in the back of his head, nor hatred. Just his own memories, of the things that echoed through the spaces of his brain. Good memories, bad memories, calm memories, hectic memories, memories of their first meeting—Eddie with a gun in his shaking hands, desperate, and the alien embrace of the symbiote he came to consider an essential part of the fabric of his being.

But now... empty.

In some ways, that came as a relief. The privacy. The freedom from that constant litany of derogatives, in their final year together.

In other ways, it made his heart feel tight and cold. The absence of the most profound devotion he had ever felt in his life. Half of him, just gone.

Maybe that was his problem. That he felt so broken without another being. Not even just another being. Specifically his _other_. Specifically the symbiote whom he had come to adore so wholeheartedly, even when it ground him under its metaphorical heel like so much broken glass on concrete. Without it, he felt like half a person. He even mentioned this to Schuyler, once. How that felt. She had looked at him with concern and pity. But no matter how she tried, with her talk therapy (despite her focus on pharmaceutical work), she couldn't get him to stop feeling that cavernous disconnect.

And he tried.

He really did.

And he couldn't even blame it on someone else, this time.

He was just a failure—couldn't even correctly function as a human being or an individual.

Eddie realized he had woken up, drifting in his thoughts. 

He opened his damp eyes to darkness, a little bit of illumination peeking in from the windows—from the only working streetlight outside. He still felt like hammered shit, aching all over, brain sluggish, hot discomfort throbbing in the back of his skull and around his broken nose and in his side... Though, much like last time, his side felt the most normal out of all of him. He pushed himself into a sitting position, snaring himself in blankets as he tried to rise from the couch. He struggled with them for a moment, but finally freed himself, and hobbled over to the kitchen.

At least the ground didn't spin _quite_ so much beneath his feet now. (Though spin it did.)

He found a glass in the shadows of the kitchen and dumped it full of ice cubes, with a tiny amount of water to justify himself, and leaned against the counter picking them out and gnawing on them one by one.

His splitting headache did not dissipate but the cold, cold meltwater made him feel like more of a person, for a second.

He stood in the dark kitchen like that for a long time, until the ice cubes had all dissolved into freezing water. Even then, after chugging the remnants with barely a break to catch his breath, he stood bowed over the countertop, braced on his forearms.

He felt like he was going to pass out, or throw up, or both.

Before gravity could take him, he lowered himself to the floor. He recalled something about it being much harder to faint while reclining, but he couldn't remember where or who, or if it were anything more than an urban legend. Regardless, he sat on the floor with his legs drawn up and his head between his knees, trying to ignore the nauseating pounding in his head.

Somehow, he remained conscious.

Barely processed the quiet tap of footsteps—until, of course, Peter crouched beside him, slung his arm over his shoulder, and dragged him upright with a surprising amount of strength in his slender frame. "Up we go, big guy..."

Peter helped Eddie back to the couch and sat him down.

He kept his hands on Eddie's shoulders for a second. When Eddie finally managed to look at him without his eyes crossing, Peter backed away slightly. "What do you need? You hungry?"

Eddie leaned back against the couch cushions and immediately regretted it as even that gentle pressure  pushed pain through the back of his skull. He straightened up with a grimace. "Is there..." Peter flicked the kitchen light on and he closed his eyes against the sudden burst of light. "Mm... 's there fruit? Can I have a smoothie?"

"You can have a smoothie." Peter rummaged around in the kitchen for a few minutes, making little clinking noises.

The blender went for a bit.

He clinked a little more.

How much time had passed, Eddie couldn't say.

A shadow fell across his face and he squinted his eyes open to see Peter holding out a glass.

"Sorry." An apologetic grin. "It might be a little watery. No more bananas."

Eddie didn't mind. He downed half of it pretty quickly—regretted it when brain freeze suffused his throat and soft palate. Up into his forehead. He made a face. But it was good, for a watery glass of blended berries. Maybe that was just his incoherence talking, though.

Peter hovered nearby, as he finished the rest—only when he'd drained his glass did Eddie notice Peter's bare feet and pajamas, sleep-mussed hair. He squinted at the clock on the DVD player until the number clarified itself. 4 am.

"Were you... checking on me?"

Peter shuffled his feet, reached up to scratch the back of his head. "No." He sighed and let his arms swing down. "Yeah." He took Eddie's empty cup and said, "Just... making sure you didn't... _depart_ in the middle of the night."

"...Thanks."

"Yeah, well." Peter rinsed the glass out in the kitchen sink and left it there to soak a little bit. "Betty would kill me if I let you die."

Eddie managed a small smirk, or what he hoped looked sufficiently smirk-like. "Didn't I already?"

"...I mean, yeah, I _guess_."

Eddie shook his head. "Bad track record so far."

Peter laughed, quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it turns out a great way to get your roommate to be nice to you is to be SO incredibly fucked up you can barely sit upright...  
> Can you imagine saying "no you can't have a smoothie" to someone in that state?!  
> it's impossible
> 
>  
> 
> Because it's apparently a law that I must use a Mirah song at some point--  
> chapter title is from "[We're Both So Sorry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQTwCl0DVM4)" by Mirah.  
> I'm not...sure why I chose this song actually, it probably would have fit better for something else...


	14. A rose by any other name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets a hamster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foolishly giving up on "not catching up to my current chapters"  
> i'll just have to hope it doesn't take me too long to finish them
> 
> contents:   
> pet store!! (rescue adoption tho), healing injuries and scars

He was going to get a hamster.

He was going to.

Today.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder, as he entered the pet store, wincing slightly. Still tender, around his side, and he knew he had a nasty looking scab matted together on the back of his head that would probably leave a scar... Or... maybe it wouldn't? The scars along the insides of his forearms hadn't gone away, but those were from before... Before Scorpio-Venom had triggered that searing sensitivity in his body. This was new, so maybe it would heal entirely.

A couple of people stared at him—who wouldn't? Big, ragged man like him, with the green-yellow remnants of double black eyes, and a backpack full of holes.

Somehow, he didn't mind too much today. He kept his posture straight and his shoulders squared.

"Welcome! Can I help you with anything today?"

Eddie nodded. "I wanted to adopt a hamster." He smiled, only a little forced. "Do you have rescues?"

"Of course!" The young woman gestured him over toward the small rodents with her best customer service grin. "We've got a Syrian hamster who's in need of a home—They're our largest breed, and one of the most popular we sell, but we do have a couple from the local shelter." She showed him, and he leaned down to be on level with the golden hamster in question.

It may have been large for a hamster but it was still so tiny.

So, so tiny.

Just holding something so delicate overwhelmed him slightly.

Small enough to fit almost perfectly in a single palm—to be fair, Eddie had large hands, even for a man of his slightly-above-average stature.

He'd done his reading, but he still listened carefully as the young woman boxed his new pet up and explained the basics of care to him, informed him all of the hamsters in the store—rescues or otherwise—were already spayed and neutered, reminded him that this hamster needed only a teaspoon of food per day. _A_ _single_ _teaspoon_ , for the entire day. It was that small of a creature.

 "What are you going to name her?"

Eddie looked up from counting out his money. "I... I don't know." He hadn't even considered the fact that he'd have to name it. Her.

"Well, I guess you'll find out!"

He nodded. "I guess so."

It didn't take long for him to be out of the shop and waiting for the bus, the jar in his bag now empty except for a five dollar bill.

When he got home, he didn't even bother to take off his shoes or his coat before taking the box over to the corner—he'd had a talk with Peter, once he could reliably formulate coherent thoughts and once he could move without feeling like he might vomit, and they'd agreed that Eddie could use the TV corner for the hamster cage, since Peter didn't actually use the space that much. So, she'd have that whole area to herself, close to Eddie but not too close. He'd set everything up before he left the apartment, too, so all he needed to do was open up her box and set her gently inside her cage.

Then, the rule.

Don't bother her for 24 hours. Let her get acquainted with her new home, let her drink some water and sniff around and dig.

Eddie sat watching her from the couch for at least an hour.

A name...

She was a soft golden-cream color, champagne or something like that...

Well, he wasn't gonna call her "Champagne," he knew that much. Even _he_ could be more creative than that. Probably.

Maybe he could ask Betty. Two writers' heads, better than one...

He busied himself with chores for the rest of the night. Ran the water far too hot when he washed the dishes, turning his hands an angry red. He swept, and cleaned out the fridge, and took out the trash. He was just about to take a shower when Peter came home with a black eye.

"What happened to _you_?" Eddie stopped in the middle of taking his shirt off, by the couch.

Peter barely batted an eyelash, and simply said, "Got mugged again," on his way to the kitchen. He grabbed an icepack from the freezer and wrapped it in a towel, holding it up to his face with a slight wince. He finally glanced over at Eddie with a frown. "Your bruises are gone."

Eddie twisted so he could see his side. A few mottled green and yellow blotches remained, but... other than that, yeah, pretty much gone entirely. Eddie poked at one of the green spots and immediately let out a hiss. "Still hurts, though."

"Yeah?" Peter shrugged and turned back to the fridge to rummage inside. "Weird stuff."

"Yeah." Eddie shook his head and grabbed some clean clothes for his shower.

The two of them really were a pair of walking disasters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is SUPER short huh
> 
> I have no fuckin idea how adopting rescues from pet stores works. I just know that it's a thing some pet stores do.


	15. I'm doing my best.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is very tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and i'm very impatient so here's more, eating into my buffer, but i think i figured out where i'm going with some of the later chapters so hopefully i'll be able to write those a little faster now
> 
> contents:  
> food and money problems, cute hamster!!!!!!!!!!!, a stress-induced emotional breakdown, self-harm/discussion of self-harm, reminiscing/memories wrt Venom

Between Peter staying out late accumulating minor scrapes and bruises pretty much constantly, and Flash disappearing on short notice for "consultation work" at least once a week, Betty had taken to visiting Eddie and Roux—the hamster—pretty regularly in her free time. Generally in the evenings.

Currently, Roux was running on her hamster wheel, while Betty lay on the ground watching her. Betty had brought over some nice fresh pears and a bottle of sparkling apple cider, and Eddie stood in the kitchen putting something together from his sad selection of ingredients. Maybe he should have asked her to bring something more... but he couldn’t expect that from her.

Lettuce... baby spinach... some leftover grilled chicken... Maybe he could make some kind of salad. Seemed like it would benefit from some soft cheese, though, and he didn't have any of that. Only had a few dollars left for the month, too. He probably should have waited a little longer before adopting Roux, in hindsight... But just hearing her wheel spinning made him smile, so he didn't mind so much. He already skipped dinner most days, anyway.

...Maybe that was unhealthy of him.

Not tonight, though.

There were some sliced toasted almonds in the cupboard, and Peter probably wouldn't mind if they used some of his vinaigrette... Dice the pears, chop up the chicken, mix it all up with some greens... Some halved baby tomatoes... Top with the almonds and the dressing.

And he didn't even have to cook anything.

He set both of their bowls on the dining table, then moved across the room and crouched down by Roux's cage to say hi. She waddled over, and he opened the door to reach inside. She climbed right onto his fingers and when he lifted her out, curled up between his cupped hands, nestling into the warmth of his skin. He let her peek out a little, holding his hands close to his face—she sniffed at his nose, whiskers fine and tickly, and he laughed. "You wanna say hi?" He shuffled his way over to Betty, on his knees, and held Roux out, careful to keep her secure.

Betty cooed, and stroked Roux's fur.

When it seemed like Roux had had enough (even though Betty wanted to keep petting her), he moved her back over to her cage, where she could dig and hide and bathe in sand.

When he stood and turned back, he found Betty watching him with a grin from her spot on the floor.

"What?" He rubbed his arm, suddenly self-conscious.

She shrugged with one shoulder. "I've just never seen you so gentle."

"Maybe you don't spend enough time around me." He raised his eyebrows as if to punctuate his statement. "Hm?"

"Hmm..." Betty pushed herself to her feet. "I don't think that's the problem." She plopped herself down at the table.

Eddie rolled his eyes and slunk back into the kitchen, to grab the now-chilled sparkling cider from the fridge. He poured two glasses and sat beside Betty to eat and talk and have a good time in general.

He couldn't remember the last time in his life he'd been able to relax like this. Maybe when he'd been with Anne.

Well... no, once or twice, as Venom... Once or twice, they'd enjoyed each other's company just for the sake of it. Holding hands, holding each other, whispering thoughts back and forth.

He shook that from his head, and focused on Betty as she began to explain her latest ideas for a story.

"Nothing concrete, yet, but I was thinking of interviewing a few of the people living at the shelter—let them tell their own stories, you know?" She chewed on her lip, thoughtfully, before making a face and taking a swig from her cider. "God, it sounds so pretentious when I say it like that." She let out a heavy breath. "So how are you holding up at work, hm? How's your injury?"

Ah, the completely transparent change-of-subject.

Eddie leaned back in his seat. "I'm exhausted." He fiddled with his glass, turning it in small circles. "But I like work." He glanced up at Betty. "It's nice to feel necessary."

"Yeah..." Betty leaned her elbow on the table. "It is, isn't it."

He smiled at her.

***

Eddie felt like such a fool, sitting in Dr. Schuyler's office with his head between his knees and his hands on the back of his neck, trying not to cry and failing miserably.

"Eddie..." Her voice was very soft. "You obviously have a lot on your plate right now... I know you want to be able to balance all of these things, but you might need to take a step back. Maybe take some time off work?"

He shook his head, as best he could in such a position. "I can't."

"Eddie..."

He knew. He knew the stress would kill him—well, maybe _not,_ considering his survival rate—but he couldn't do much about that. He already ate less than three full meals a day, often only one, and he needed to be able to take care of Roux, and still pay the rent, and everything else. Needed to pay off the hospital bills he'd accrued from what his insurance didn't cover, from the short time he spent in the ICU. He _had_ to work. He needed the money. He needed to feel needed, and useful. Spending time alone left him too much time to think, and when he thought too much, his mind would drift to smooth, black darkness and cool silk on his skin.

Why now? What had happened _now_ , that he kept thinking of it?

Was it just self-sabotage? Now that he felt semi-secure, now that he had friends, his brain wanted to ruin it for him. Remind him.

"I understand that you're frustrated, Eddie. I know... it's not... a situation with an easy solution."

Or any solution.

She didn't say that out loud, but Eddie could read her voice well enough to know.

"I'm just having a rough week." He cleared his throat. "It's fine. I can do this."

Schuyler sighed. "I just don't want you to push yourself too hard."

"I can _do_ it."

Stubborn streak.

She said, "I believe you" and it sounded both sincere and entirely false, simultaneously, if such a thing were possible.

The two of them sat in silence a moment, until Dr. Schuyler asked, "How's your head, Eddie?"

He traced his fingertips over the newly formed scar on the back of his skull. A little sensitive to the touch, very ugly but small, and... better than he would have expected, all things considered. Most people didn't walk away from a combination fracture-and-puncture wound so easily.

"It's... good."

"Good. I'm glad."

He managed to pull himself together enough to sit up, to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. Dr. Schuyler watched him with a concerned tilt to her eyebrows, legs crossed in her tasteful pantsuit, hands folded over her notes. He took a deep breath and turned his eyes to his shoes, and the hard-carpeted floor, and the large striped rug blocking out a portion of the room.

"Eddie..." Dr. Schuyler adjusted her notes before continuing, a small distraction. "I want you to promise me something. Can you do that?"

Not a reassuring line of conversation, but Eddie nodded.

"I want you to promise to tell me everything from now on."

Eddie tensed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Eddie, look at your _hands_ —"

He looked, and... yeah. Even with his heightened healing as of late, his hands were red and scabbed over in a lot of places, his cuticles destroyed, dry skin all across the backs of his knuckles, a few spots cracked and bleeding. It had gotten worse after his injury... all the healing focused on his head and his bruises. He tucked his hands under his armpits. Didn't meet Dr. Schuyler's eyes.

"If you're hurting yourself I need to _know_ , Eddie. So I can help you. But I can't help if you don't _talk_ to me." She leaned forward with her hands against her legs, the heels of her palms pressing into her knees. "Maybe I should have someone else take over."

"No—" Eddie dug his fingers into his ribs. "I like talking to you." He finally looked at her.

She regained her composure. Calm, cool, collected, effortless. "I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm not being very professional right now."

She sighed, and stood. "Let's take a break for a couple of minutes, alright? And then when we come back, we can try to think of some alternatives to self-harm."

"Alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eddie, spending money he absolutely does not have on a hamster and a huge cage and the correct toys and food: self-care
> 
>  
> 
> (he'll be okay)
> 
> probably could have used a little more buildup but i think it's fair to have an emotional breakdown after almost dying


	16. It all revolves around you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's mind wanders and he gets off in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> lots of introspection  
> exercise  
> showering  
> brief prayer  
> sensuality/eddie feeling himself up like he did in chapter 3  
>  **Heavily Implied Masturbation**
> 
> also i purposefully over-use the word "soft" in this one because!! the human body!! even when it is hard! is soft!  
> so  
> that might be obnoxious lol  
> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Eddie kind of wished he was still in group therapy, just so he had someone to whom he could gush about Roux—someone other than Flash, at least.

Flash didn't really come over to the apartment, much. The building barely qualified as wheelchair accessible itself, let alone the apartment. The front door was narrow, and their living room wasn't all that spacious. So he mostly avoided their place, and the only time Eddie really saw him was at Betty's apartment, or on the occasion the three or four of them went out to a café on the weekend, like today.

So, Flash hadn't met Roux.

He adored her, though, just from the photos on Betty's phone, and the little stories Eddie told about her.

Eddie watched Flash and Betty from across the table, a little envious, internally.

He liked being friends with them, but sometimes their affection reminded him of his past... loves he had lost, who had left him. Anne... Even the symbiote, despite everything that had happened between them. But he couldn't let that color their friendship. He enjoyed their company, he enjoyed their friendliness and their jokes and Betty's confidence, and Flash's foul mouth. Even when Peter butted in, sometimes.

Though Peter had been much kinder to Eddie since he nearly died.

Actually died.

Semantics.

"What're you thinking about, weirdo?" Speak of the devil. Peter sat down beside Eddie—but not too close—with a raised eyebrow, coffee in-hand. "You look constipated."

Eddie gave him a tart smile. "Well, now I'm thinking about how annoying you are."

Peter rolled his eyes.

What a strange life Eddie led.

He and the symbiote, a creature he never thought he'd part from, now a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

He and Peter Parker—from outright enemies to... not friends, but two people who tolerated each other.

He and Flash and Betty. A rocky start, now a solid friendship.

Even if Flash was barely around anymore.

"Hey."

Eddie blinked, bringing his eyes into focus with a questioning frown.

"You're staring." Flash grinned. "Something on my face?"

"Oh. No." Eddie shook his head, reaching around to run his fingers over his mostly healed scar. It _itched_.  "Nothing." He looked away. Met Betty's eyes, briefly, and for a moment caught a glimmer of understanding. He doubted she knew exactly his thoughts, but he imagined she must have been similarly frustrated by Flash's frequent absences. That she, in some way, made the connection.

***

Eddie felt well enough to exercise again. Even with his rapid healing, it had taken over a month for him to stop forgetting words—more than a concussion, probably. But now his head felt about as fine as his body, and he could go back to working out without worrying he might fall.

Healthy body, healthy mind... As much as possible, at least.

Between stretches to bookend his routine, he did pushups in front of the couch. Until he couldn't, anymore, but even that felt _great_. He would be sore, and he liked that.

He stole some of Peter's food to make himself a sandwich, after. Sweaty and too hungry to ignore it.

With his stomach no longer gnawing at itself, Eddie stripped (Peter wasn't home) and made his way to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment—just normal Eddie, a little gaunt but bright-eyed for the first time in a long time and, if he allowed himself some vanity, not unattractive. He stepped into the shower, running the water nice and hot (not enough to burn, this time), basking in the steam. Maybe the best thing this admittedly rickety old apartment had going for it was the shower. The temperature could be finicky, often offering only too-hot or too-cold. But the water pressure...

He closed his eyes and let his head bow, as the water drummed against his back and shoulders.

He prayed, in the shower.

Simple. God forgive me for all the things I have done. Accept me for all of my sins, and accept me for all of my improvements. Internally voiced, mixed in with all of his other thoughts, though he tried to keep it fairly clear.

He let his hands wander absentmindedly, touching his face after he rinsed his hair out. Lighting on the small, slightly sunken mark on the back of his head. Then across his shoulders and down his arms. His little ritual, feeling every scar and blemish. His hands were still rough, still cracked, though slightly healed, now that he no longer had to contend with what had probably been mild brain damage sapping all of his body's energy. (His body and whatever had gotten into him, to heal him so well...)

He touched his back, and his chest, feeling the muscles move there. So much firmer and more defined than they were just a few months ago. Washboard abs, again, or something close to it. Simultaneously hard in their musculature, but soft in their existence as part of his human body. Soft skin, soft hair all down his stomach, under his drifting caress... He reached back to steady himself with his other hand, leaning against the wall until his shoulders touched the cold tiles and water streamed down his legs more than his face.

He let out a soft gasp at his own soft touch, tilting his head out of the way of the water.

Caught his soft lower lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to sting but not to hurt.

The heat sinking through his skin made him dizzy so he opened his eyes to help him keep his balance.

Unbidden, memories of smooth blackness rose to mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut again with a curse as soft as everything else.

It didn't hurt, was the thing. It didn't chill him, or make him want to stop. It made him feel homesick, and foolish, and a little bit frustrated. More than a little bit desperate. Full of heat and some kind of needling desire as he remembered the way his other had wrapped around him, soothed him, and enveloped him.

Drew a tiny little soft noise from his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got a little..... STEAMY ;D (get it, cause it's in the shower) but ofc in the most vague way possible—why would I ever describe something that's happening when I can instead describe the things happening in relation to and because of it....  
> also I DO Realize I went basically straight from eddie praying _right_ to eddie masturbating LMFAO listen the human body is a sacred space, he's just paying his respects or whatever...
> 
> Does he successfully get off? Only God knows.  
> (probably, but i doubt he feels great about it afterward. as you may be able to tell, he's a little stuck on the symbiote still despite everything that happened between them)
> 
> title from "[come what may](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YsMvzgeSuI)" from moulin rouge!


	17. You with the sad eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie takes part in an awkward conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Awkward conversations, physical pain, Communication™  
> Scars from self-harm/suicide  
> Hugging and lots of physical contact  
> and more awkward conversations and some reminiscing
> 
> honestly this chapter might be a little heavy-handed, and idk if I like the first half, but it was important that I get Something instead of just being like, shit idk what to write.

 "Hi, Eddie." Betty took him by the hand, as she greeted him. "I hope you don't mind, but Flash and I wanted to talk to you about something. _Before_ the movie."

Eddie frowned, glancing over her head toward where Flash sat on the couch.

"Nothing bad." She patted his arm and pulled away, leaving him to follow her as she said, "I just think we need to... address some things while he's in town." 

Eddie felt itchy.

But he sat on the couch, where they had made space between them. Bracketing him in, much like the first movie night the three of them spent together. Both very calm, almost like one might look at a child who has done something warranting gentle discussion, without wishing to cause alarm.

Both Flash and Betty's proximity made him feel warm, and soothed him, but Flash's in particular also made him feel unusually uncomfortable—that hyper-sensitive sensation. It left his skin _crawling_ , despite their friendship.

"So..." Betty placed her hand over Eddie's. "Eddie."

He tried to shrug off his discomfort, meeting her eyes. She smiled at him.

Flash spoke—"We've noticed... Well.  You've been staring at me a lot, lately, and... I mean, I don't mind, exactly, but... I just don't want this to turn into a problem, is all—"

"...What?" Eddie turned his hand palm-up, so he could wrap his fingers around Betty's, so he could calm himself, though he focused his confusion on Flash.

He didn't seem angry, or disappointed, or anything negative. On the contrary, he seemed almost shy. Eddie glanced over at Betty and she raised her eyebrows.

Flash's fingertips brushed Eddie's other hand—Eddie flinched, though luckily he did not grab anyone this time, out of any misplaced self-preservational instincts. He turned his attention back to Flash, willing himself not to draw away from the electric feeling just underneath the surface of his skin.

"Eddie, what Flash is trying to say is..."

Teeth on edge—

"It's okay if you have a crush on him."

Oh.

Wait.

"What?" Eddie looked between them both. " _That's_ what you wanted to talk about?"

Flash laughed, and as he did so his forehead fell against Eddie's shoulder—It felt like little tiny hooks being dragged across his skin, even through the weave of his sweater, and he couldn't handle it anymore.

" _Okay_ —I have to—"He stood up and moved Betty into his vacated spot.

He sat down on her other side, and looked at them both, as they frowned at him. "First of all, I like you _both_ very much. As friends. Second of all, Flash—" Eddie sighed, heat rising up his back and neck. "I have to request that you not touch me, right now, if that's alright."

Communication. Clarity. Very important.

Flash's frown in particular deepened. "O—of course. Um... Is this like Peter's thing?"

"What?" Eddie frowned.

Betty offered: "Sensory overload?"

His face cleared. "Oh. No. I think I'm having some kind of allergic reaction."

He distracted himself from Betty and Flash's dual gazes by pulling his sweater off over his head—relieved to feel air on his skin; glad he had the foresight to wear a tank top underneath for once.

"I don't know _what_ it is but..."

He bundled his sweater up and set it to the side. Rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at his palms a moment, running a thumb across the side of one hand as he said, "It's... unpleasant."

"Oh—wow."

" _Flash_."

Betty wore a scolding expression, twisted around on Flash.

"I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting—" Flash wasn't staring, nothing so shocked as that. But he was _looking_. Eyes focused, with some amount of concern creasing the spot between his eyebrows as his gaze moved across Eddie's arms, over the pale, jagged lines crisscrossing the soft skin from his wrists to the crooks of his elbows, and the slightly older, more cleanly healed scars buried beneath them.

He glanced up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't—I should know better than to—I mean, I don't like it when people stare at _me_ , so why should I stare at... you." He trailed off uncomfortably. "Sorry."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Relax, Flash. They're just scars."

Quietly, Flash murmured, "Okay. Sorry."

Eddie grunted.   

It seemed like Flash wanted to reach out but, true to his word, he didn't touch Eddie. Thank God.

Flash let out a breath he must have been holding deep in his lungs. He'd laced his fingers around Betty's hand. He smiled, though. Bright and friendly.

"What?" Eddie crossed his arms.

A shrug. "Nothing, just... Sappy stuff." Flash wrinkled his nose, blushing slightly as he leaned his chin on Betty's shoulder. "Kinda bummed I can't hug you." He didn't quite meet Eddie's eyes.

Betty grinned. "I can do it for you." She raised her eyebrows playfully. "Hug messenger."

Flash laughed.

"That _really_ isn't necessary." Eddie grumbled.

Betty rolled her eyes, not unkindly but exasperated no less. She opened her arms.

"Come here, Eddie."

Her tone brooked no argument.

Eddie made a face, but... he embraced her, fastening his arms around her narrow back as hers looped around his neck. She smelled like cinnamon, and soap. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing it all in, resting his chin on her shoulder and basking in human contact.

Maybe this _was_ necessary, after all.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and let Betty go.

The three of them settled into an awkward silence.

"So..." Betty stretched her legs out until one of her hips cracked, then relaxed again. "You like both of us..."

Eddie clasped his hands together. "Yes."

"As friends."

He suppressed a smile. "Yes, Betty."

He wasn't _lying_. He liked them as friends a great deal, even with Flash's frequent absences. If his emotions encompassed more than friendship, that didn't matter, and they didn't need to know, and he wasn't going to confront that any time soon, even if they asked.

"Alright. Just making sure." She laid her arms across the back of the couch, behind both Eddie's and Flash's shoulders, and propped her ankle up on the opposite knee. "Flash, can you text Peter and let him know we're starting the movie without him?"

Flash fished his phone from his pocket obediently.

***

Eddie and Flash sat on the couch together, drinking chamomile tea. Flash had complained, initially, but seemed to genuinely enjoy it once he tried more than a sip. Now he simply relaxed, cup held between his hands, eyes half-closed like a cat. A small barrier of pillows had been built up between them—Peter's idea of a joke—and the apartment was very quiet.

Just small noises here and there. Peter in the kitchen, humming as he made them all dinner. Betty in the bathroom, washing her makeup off. The TV had been turned down very low, and offered only the slight hum of voices from a late-night drama.

"I miss it sometimes."

Flash frowned and looked over at Eddie. "What?"

"The... other." He breathed in the steam from his tea. "Being Venom."

"Yeah," Flash scoffed. "And I miss drinking, sometimes."

Eddie made a face. He took a sip, and set his cup aside. Folded his arms across his chest and finally said, "Not like that." He turned slightly, to face Flash. Serious, and low-voiced. "I miss it like I miss holding my wife's hand."

It seemed like they both held their breath for a long time, though Eddie could feel his lungs expanding as normal.

Finally—"Oh."

"Yeah."

Something in Flash's posture, in his expression... Guilt. Not just for saying the wrong thing. Something else. Like he wanted to say something more but he wouldn't. Something stuck somewhere in there, between his brain and his mouth, keeping his jaw tight and his mouth a firm straight line. He wouldn't look at Eddie, even as Eddie watched him.

After a few long moments, as Betty turned on the shower and the pipes in the walls rumbled with water, Flash spoke again—

"Is it... alive?"

Eddie tilted his head. "Fully sapient." He let out a quiet breath. "Enough to regurgitate the same abuse my father fed me growing up, and then some."

Flash screwed his face up. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Nothing to apologize for. I talk too openly."

They both fell silent.

That creak-creak-creak in the walls kept it from getting too tense. The sound of boiling water, and Peter mumbling to himself.

"Why do you miss it?"

Eddie closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushions with a sigh. "I want to blame it on codependency, but... I've had a lot of time to think." He ran his fingertips along the scars on the inside of his arm, a small distraction as he spoke. "We used to be in love. That's what I miss. Before we were sick. Before I began to die again. Before it... showed its true colors."

Flash didn't say anything.

Eddie reached for his tea again, in the half-darkness of the living room. Memories of the symbiote kept drifting in and out of his thoughts, intrusive in their insistence, and interspersed between positive and negative. Himself, shivering on the bathroom floor as it returned to him—his aching relief, despite the fragile hurt it caused him. But then, the two of them with hands intertwined, in the shade of a tree in that park in San Francisco, in the late afternoon—after the park had been somewhat restored from the LIFE Foundation's barely-legal construction project.

How could he reconcile those two sides as one being? The love and the cruelty.

When they first met, it hadn't even been capable of _speech_ , yet within two years, suddenly produced fully formed sentences to make the writer in Eddie weep and the lover in him cower. Some of the things it said to him... plucked direct from his childhood. Some of them, fully new in their coherence, and just as harsh. Perhaps harsher knowing they came from the symbiote's own imagination.

Jagged, but as smooth as a well-honed knife, as well. Catered to his psyche and no one else's, to his mind and the things that made him tick.

Eddie wiped at the corner of his eye with his free hand, steadying his breath.

Softly, Flash whispered, "Everything okay, Brock?"

Surname, to distance himself.

"I'm fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Cyndi Lauper's "[True Colors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPn0KFlbqX8)." (NOT the cover from the Trolls movie....)
> 
>  
> 
> let's get some tonally dissonant lighthearted humor up in here—oh fuck I spilled emotions all over it, oh shit. 
> 
> Betty's really out here trying to get this going and Eddie is NOT letting her do it  
> Eddie: *crushing on betty and flash* you two are my best friends  
> Betty: Are you SURE cause I think you have a crush.  
> Eddie: i've never had a crush in my life how dare you, my feelings are strictly platonic *scoff*
> 
> Anti-Venom is reacting to traces of Venom in Flash's blood (👀)  
> Also I don't consider this some kind of spoiler for the fic like, of course he's Agent Venom now. The drama lies not in the reader finding out, but in Eddie finding out.   
> Venom is NOT reacting to Anti-Venom because it's not... active I guess? Like the traces are enough to trigger AV because it's very sensitive but the traces don't respond themselves. like how Eddie didn't feel it when Mr. Li detoxed his body in New Ways to Die.


	18. Oh, well imagine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie learns of the newest, latest, hottest Venom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> a lot of the usual introspection and awkwardness...  
> but also  
> food and food issues related to money issues--not eating enough/at all  
> also eddie and peter are both stubborn

Agent Venom.

So, no longer with the Scorpion.

The story in the paper was vague, missing most (if not all) useful details—only a single blurry photo of a black and white figure that looked straight out of one of Betty's computer games. (Eddie had tried one out once, but it made him nauseous, the way the camera angle moved with the mouse.) Big white spider on the chest, not dissimilar to some of Spider-Man's past logos—as if Eddie were one to judge. As if his rage-filled obsession with Spider-Man hadn't collided with the symbiote's own betrayal from the same man and emblazoned them with their own version of his symbol.

Eddie folded the newspaper back up and set it aside. He might be able to use it for something. Or maybe it would just sit on the end table, with that photo taunting him.

It was Saturday morning, and Roux was asleep in her little house in her cage.

Peter was out doing whatever he did when he left the house. Betty had errands to run and an article to work on, and Flash had left town that morning, after movie night, to do his unspoken military work.

So Eddie sat on the couch, drinking a lunch consisting solely of tea with milk, trying not to think too hard about the news.

His stomach growled.

He felt both restless at having nowhere to be and nothing to do, and grateful for a break. His mind told him he should have been working, making more money, but the thought of actually going in on one of his two days off made his pulse spike. Really his only true day off, considering he generally saw Dr. Schuyler every Sunday now, ever since group therapy ended a month or so ago, and so he usually used Sunday as his errand day in addition to his psychiatry-and-prayer day.

So... Saturday was his day to take more than five minutes to himself... to relax.

He finished his tea and stood. Rinsed his cup, and walked over to the open space near the couch to do his workout routine. He had shifted his focus from body-building to a more natural strength-training regimen that felt good but put less emphasis on increasing bulk and more on maintaining practical strength and endurance. Not that he wasn't a naturally bulky guy, to some extent, with a fairly broad chest and shoulders. And with so little body fat, he ended up more defined, anyway...

Of course... That was, arguably, a bad thing.

He wasn't eating enough, and exercising on a nearly empty stomach wouldn't help that in any way.

If he could bring his stubbornness and pride into check, maybe he could ask for help, but instead he did what he always did. Stretches first, a sort of toned-down form of yoga. Then weights, today. Various lifts for various purposes, for as many parts of his body as possible. He wound down with some more stretches and then just lay on the floor for a while, breathing, staring up at the ceiling.

After what must have been five minutes, he rolled to his feet—everything got muffled for a second, ringing in his ears and obscuring his vision. He wobbled but stayed upright. Shook the tingles from his hands and grabbed some water from the kitchen. He drank it slowly. Room temperature. Let himself transition from his workout into normal motions. He gave his glass a quick rinse and put it up to dry before heading to the bathroom with a change of clothes.

He showered, and dressed himself, and stood with his hands on the edge of the sink, looking down at the basin.

He rubbed some lotion into his hands and left the bathroom in a billow of humidity.

That newspaper... That grainy photo...

He picked the paper up and frowned at it.

"Who _are_ you?"

Eddie received no answer from the photo, but his stomach growled again.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to stare at its contents. Very little of it belonged to him. Almost every condiment was Peter's, along with most everything else on the shelves. Except for a tub of unsweetened, full-fat yogurt and a bag of celery.

Sure, fine. Good enough. He sat down at the table outside of the kitchen with three sticks of celery and a bowl of plain yogurt. He stole a Lunchable as well (because Peter Parker was, apparently, ten years old), hoping it would go unnoticed.

***

"Have you been eating my food?"

Eddie frowned and looked up from his book. He marked his page and set the book aside, rising to his feet as Peter poked around in the fridge for some kind of Monday morning offering.

"Sorry."

Peter glanced over at him, but he sighed and straightened up and let the refrigerator close. "No, I just..." He scratched the back of his head. "I just want to make sure I'm not losing my mind or something."

"It was only one—I should have asked."

Peter nodded.

Neither spoke for a moment.

Quietly, avoiding eye contact—"When's the last time you ate?"

He didn't want to answer that.

The clock currently read around 6 AM, so... it must have been...

Around 42 hours, give or take. "Saturday."

"...Right, okay." Peter opened the fridge again and grabbed what seemed to be his own leftover sandwich from the day before. He inspected it for a moment, then held it out in Eddie's direction with a tight frown, still not making eye contact. "Here."

 Eddie put his hands up, though he inched slightly closer. "No."

Peter frowned deeper. "Just _take_ it, dude." He waved it at Eddie as if that would make it more enticing or bruise his ego less. (Peter's ego? Or Eddie's? A question with no clear answer.)

Ego be damned for both of them.

Eddie took the sandwich from Peter with a terse, "Thanks," and promptly sat himself down at the dining table outside of the kitchen. He peeled the wrapper, trying to ignore the sound of Peter muttering something to himself—it was a good quality sandwich, even after sitting in its own juices for ten hours. Something like a cross between a sub and a pretzel roll, with chicken, pickled onions and cucumbers... Who knew what else—Eddie didn’t care as long as it was in his mouth.

After a moment, Peter plopped himself down into the other chair with a bowl of cereal. He seemed to be inspecting the wilting houseplant set on the table, as he crunched through his breakfast.

Eddie tried not to inhale the sandwich.

Peter remained silent until he finished his cereal, finally pushing the bowl aside slightly around the same time Eddie licked the last bit of mustard from his fingers.

"Listen," Peter propped his elbows up on the table. "I'm not exactly loaded, but obviously I make more than you do, so... Let's cut a deal."

Eddie frowned.

"You have a hamster to feed, right?"

"...Yes."

"So." Peter leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of his mouth for a moment. "I want you to focus on feeding your hamster, and if you have some extra money, fine, but I don't care. Every morning, I'm gonna make you eat breakfast if I have to drag you kicking and screaming out of bed, and every night, I'm gonna make us both dinner, but like, for real. Not just giving you whatever extra half of a serving I have." He finally looked over at Eddie, with a familiar, stubborn glint in his eye. "This includes weekends."

Eddie sighed. "You won't take no for an answer, will you?"

"Absolutely not."

Eddie huffed out a small laugh and picked at the soggy wrapper—the only thing remaining of Peter's leftover sandwich. "You really are May's nephew."

Peter grinned. "You bet your ass I am." He frowned again. "If she knew that _I_ knew you weren't eating, and that I wasn't doing anything about it, she'd kill me."

"Uh-huh." Eddie shook his head. "Which is why you're doing this."

Quick narrowed eyes, and Peter said, "No. I'm doing this because I would _also_ kill me for not doing anything even though I know." He frowned deeper at his roundabout phrasing. Stood, pushing his chair back with a scrape. Paused a moment, as he grabbed his empty bowl. "They always raised me to give what I could, you know? Even when we didn't have much."

Eddie looked down at his hands. "I appreciate it."

Peter left him with a stiff pat on the shoulder and a muttered, "Yeah, yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I'm pacing the pews in a church corridor—
> 
> agent venom looks like a fuckin Mass Effect character, I'll tell u what. I like the idea that betty is also a nerd and plays some games in her free time.  
> also I don't know shit about exercising.  
> i did 15 wall pushups yesterday, and that's what i know. 
> 
> trying to find a balance between not drawing this story out but also not rushing it... is hard.
> 
> eddie doesn't "technically" have an eating disorder in that it's not a psychological need to maintain or lose weight, it's not about body image or dysmorphia or dysphoria, or gastrointestinal anxiety, or anything like that—but he IS avoiding food. because he can't afford it/because of anxieties about money even when he can afford it/etc...like it's not On Purpose but even with peter offering him food he's still so hesitant because he hates relying on people, so in a way there is an aspect of insecurity and lack of control over his life involved with this... so I think it's probably ED-adjacent...   
> It's easier when it's like, everyone's together and betty ordered some pizzas and stuff cause then he doesn't feel like a charity case.
> 
> Completely off-topic but:
> 
> If you donate to food banks, for the love of god, stop just giving them the leftover stuff you don't want. Donate money if you can, or canned goods that are like... good. Canned fruit! Peanut butter! Pasta! Better yet just ask the food bank what they need the most, cause I guarantee they'll have a list. 
> 
> The same for other places. Don't just throw leftover shit in a box and call it good. Ask what they really need and if you have the money to spare, buy it new for the express purpose of donating it.   
> When I was training at the YWCA, people would donate like... half-empty bottles of shampoo and shit. like--don't do that?! We can't give this to people!! Don't give us USED deodorant!!! What the fuck!
> 
> And if you _need_ that stuff? Ask the YWCA. Even if they don't give it out themselves, they should have info on where you can go to get it (whether it's diapers or toilet paper or food).
> 
>  
> 
> ANYWAY yeah, at this point eddie eats at work because it's free, and he eats random things that peter offers him and whatever they have at movie night, and has a small amount of his own food, but he spends a lot of weekends not eating anything at all or only eating once... NOW ofc peter is gonna make him eat more. yay peter  
> teachers don't make a ton but they make more than eddie i guess  
> oh i wonder if random people spider-man saves ever give him money  
> is that unethical  
> he's risking his life


	19. Rending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Flash take off their shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm here to have a good time, okay.
> 
> Contents:  
> Homoeroticism!  
> shirtless dudes and even more awkwardness  
> Just Guys Being Dudes  
> lots of physical contact  
> physical pain  
> blood, bites, and scratches  
> emotional guilt

This was a foolish idea.

But Flash was in town again, and Betty considered herself very clever, and so...

Everything had been moved out of the way, in part to make space for Flash's wheelchair, and in part to make space so that he and Eddie could sit on the floor in the middle of the living room, facing each other.

"You're just trying to get me naked." Eddie shot Betty a teasing smile.

"Right, because I'm just _so_ desperate to see your chest hair."

He tugged his shirt over his head with a snort and bundled it up in his lap. Planted his hands on his knees with a deep breath, and turned his gaze on Flash.

Probably far too intense.

Flash averted his eyes, flushing slightly.

"What? Can't handle this?" Eddie smirked, with a rough gesture toward himself.

Flash scoffed. "I've been around plenty worse." He raised his eyes to meet Eddie's, a stubborn jut to his chin. "I just wasn't ready yet."

Eddie rolled his eyes. Relaxed his shoulders.

Flash had good posture. Well-defined muscles all along his torso and arms and shoulders, though not particularly bulky—even as lean as Eddie had become in the past year or two, he still had a broader chest and wider shoulders compared to Flash.

Flash was not nearly so hairy as him, either. Most of it fine and translucent.

Stubbly around the jaw, whereas Eddie usually made sure to keep clean-shaven. (Not always.)

Slightly soft-featured, not unattractive in his scruffiness. Nice abs.

Eddie allowed himself to objectify Flash for only a moment longer before locking eyes with him once more, allowing a perhaps slightly taunting grin to spread across his face. Feeling much more like his old self.

"How about now? Still not ready?"

"I'm totally ready." Flash crossed his arms over his bare chest, which—Eddie noted—turned about as red as his face and ears when he blushed.

"Embarrassed?" Eddie leaned back on his hands. Casual, confident. Ignoring the itching feeling just under his skin from their proximity.

Flash snorted. "No way." He uncrossed his arms. "I'm the picture of un-embarrassment."

Betty cleared her throat from her spot on the couch.

They both looked at her, and she grinned. "Not that I don't enjoy watching you two posture at each other, but maybe we should get to the point."

Eddie took a deep breath, bolstering himself.

Across from him, Flash took on a relaxed, passive posture, resting the backs of his hands lightly on his thighs, palms up, fingers loose. He held eye contact for a moment. Nodded. Handing over full control of the situation to Eddie, trusting him not to do anything strange or threatening.

Why had Eddie agreed to this?

He pulled in yet another breath, pushing down his desire to be anywhere but here, to do anything but this, and reached out to take Flash's hands.

It hurt like Hell.

Eddie gritted his teeth and didn't let go.

He breathed sharply, shallowly, through his nose. Kept his eyes on Flash, on his calm face, calm posture, calm concern. Kept himself down on Planet Earth with the blood rushing through his ears. He tightened his hold on Flash's hands, shifting his thumbs across his calloused palms in a gesture that might have been gentle were he not filled with the sensation of ripping and tearing.

He could feel Betty watching, a prickle up the side of his neck distinct from the discomfort.

If she said something, he didn't hear, skull full of the dull roar of his own circulatory system. Pulse throbbing in his ears.

Right. The point. The point of their shirtlessness.

He steeled himself, forcing another of his smug smirks in self-defense—maybe he said something snarky, he couldn't be sure, feeling so full of cotton as he did—and before he could psych himself out—

Eddie straddled Flash, and wrapped his arms roughly around his shoulders. Chest-to-chest, skin theoretically pressed to skin. Except Eddie could barely feel that contact. Mostly he felt like his entire body had been dunked in _bleach_.

He heard himself swear, distantly, and felt the half-registered pressure of arms closing around his back.

There was something... familiar. Smooth and dark...

All his muscles taut. Eyes burning, with the edges of his vision gone white and staticky.

Everything hurt. Not a single cell felt anything other than pure pain.

He felt like he was melting. He'd stopped breathing entirely at some point.

Building pressure in his head and behind his eyes, nails-on-a-chalkboard all over his body, metallic taste in his mouth like pennies—

A tight yelp cut sharply through his muffled head—

The pain stopped.

" _Fuck_ —"

A few moments passed, slowly darkening...

A different kind of muffled... Something tapped on the back of his head, maybe a hand. Someone said his name. Flash, probably? Maybe Betty. He couldn't tell.

Eddie remembered to breathe with a loud, torn-up gasp against Flash's shoulder. Something enveloped him in a rending movement of his own body and then shuddered back into his skin like a full-body tidal wave. He still hurt slightly, but so much less so in comparison that it might as well have been likened to the softest touch from a downy feather. He wound down—wide-eyed and wild with the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Eddie?"

He jolted, releasing his fingers from Flash's back, where he'd dug in.

Flash's pupils were wide and dark, and he bled sluggishly from the arc of tooth marks Eddie had left in in the meat of his shoulder, just shy of his neck.

But he didn't seem angry, and one of his arms still looped around Eddie's back to support him, fingers splayed across his ribs. His other hand pressed up against the base of Eddie's skull, flat and warm. He leaned their foreheads together as they both caught their breath, Eddie more winded than Flash by far but the other still somewhat breathless.

The backs of Eddie's arms tingled. Something both all-too-familiar and entirely strange.

"I'm gonna go get the first aid kit..." Betty rose from the couch and left the room before either of them could reply.

Eddie ran his tongue over his bloodied teeth—no sharper than usual, but they felt like they ought to have been. He watched Flash's face for any trace of fear or anger or disgust... no such negative expression seemed forthcoming.

So he slumped forward against Flash with a heavy exhale, pressing his face into the crook of his neck, glad they could touch again without that screaming agony. Flash's breath hitched, but he didn't push Eddie away yet. A small amount of blood smeared across Eddie's cheek and he smoothed his hand over Flash's back, where he could feel the raised lines of scratches under his fingertips.

He had done that.

Hurt his friend. Made him bleed, without even realizing.

Guilt rose in his chest and up his throat.

Eddie drew away, then.

Flash twisted to reach for his shirt almost immediately, when Eddie freed him, and—the shift in angle showed the red marks from Eddie's nails, raked horizontally across his back and shoulders. Shallow but just deep enough that his movements pulled tiny beads of blood up along the surface of his broken skin, to match the bite mark on his shoulder.

Flash's expression had tightened into something withdrawn and serious. He winced as he put his shirt back on, and for a second Eddie caught his eye—they both looked away, the air between them tense and full of overstimulated discomfort.

Betty returned with the first aid kit a few seconds later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a seat, make yourself comfortable, and welcome your friend and mine, Homoeroticism, to the table! flash just discovered a new kink ;D (I'm joking, I'm joking) (it is amusing to think about this from flash's POV though, cause he's not dealing with any of that pain (except from eddie's nails/teeth) so it's like... a minute of sitting there with his half-naked friend on top of him, lots of skin-to-skin contact, and so on..... lmfao)
> 
> also don't worry I don't plan on ruining their friendship over something as minor as some accidental bloodletting. 
> 
> ALSO: eddie 100% just cleansed flash of the little bits of symbiote residues in his blood, which neither of them are aware of but which flash might find out depending on how often the military does things like blood tests for this kind of thing. not that he'd think to connect it to eddie. 
> 
> guarantee eddie's eyes were weird and orangey-milky colored...


	20. Knock me off of my feet all week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> pining!!!  
> allusions to self-harm (mostly in improving)  
> the usual awkwardness  
> some Feelings both at home and at therapy
> 
>  
> 
> making this plot up as I go because that is totally sustainable and not at all impractical
> 
>  
> 
> catch me, out here, making everything all wooby and soft  
> "in character"? never heard of it

Peter kept his word. Perhaps irritatingly so, but... Eddie felt so much less exhausted, eating regular meals every day. One less thing to worry about. Thank God, too, because his current problems really didn't leave a lot of room for issues like "affording food."

His current problem being, namely, the white-hot _thing_ in his blood that had been awoken by Flash's presence.

It wasn't a symbiote—couldn't be a symbiote. Wasn't alive, didn't cover him up. Didn't change his body. Didn't think. Didn't _feel_. Didn't feel like anything, outside of those moments of high stress or physical danger...

...or Flash's touch.

Why _Flash_?

It actually hurt much less, now, ever since their bodies had pressed together and drawn this thing agonizingly through his brain. Like a band-aid had been torn off, taken the top layer with it in its raw sting and then left sensitive redness behind. Not entirely pleasant, to be sure, when it emanated from any given point of contact, but much preferable to before. Much better to feel this tenderness and discomfort than that burn, that outright torture. And just... pretend everything was normal. Maybe it was normal, as far as normal could be for Eddie.

Some days the pain would even subside entirely, and if Flash patted his shoulder or offered any other casual touch—nothing. Just _touch_. Usually, the next time they spoke, it would be back to that little soreness, but only if he left for military contract work between. Something about his absences renewed the sting, and the more they touched the more it subsided, each time.

It made Eddie want to touch him constantly. Any small contact he could get. A brush of their hands, during movies. A friendly slap on the back. Each gradually less painful than the last. Or maybe that was his excuse. Intimacy, but non-intrusive. He did it with Betty, too, was the thing. Just slightly _less_ so. After all, touching her never hurt him. He could hug her any time (as long as she didn't mind) without having to think about whether he had inoculated himself against her skin. Whether he had built up a series of small touches beforehand to protect himself from the larger ones he wanted so badly from both of them.

Eddie sighed, as he stroked Roux's back, cradling her in one hand while he sat with his back to the wall. She stayed in his palm without trying to escape, sniffing here and there but mostly content to be held.

Between this new mystery of physical contact and Agent Venom nagging at the back of his mind ever since he saw them in the newspaper...

Yeah, he really didn't have time to worry about food.

"Hey—" Peter stuck his head out from the kitchen. "You should help me."

Eddie grumbled but he put Roux back into her cage and rose to his feet, to join Peter in the kitchen. A pot of angel hair pasta boiled on the stove, as Peter opened a jar of pre-made tomato sauce. He didn't seem like he needed help but the sink was piled high with dishes... mostly Peter's... Eddie rolled his eyes but set to work, with the water not quite scalding but still hot enough to make him flinch a little bit.

Not enough to harm him immediately, though.

He was _trying_ , he really was.

"Move."

Eddie moved out of the way, not in the mood to argue with Peter over his bluntness—

Peter set a colander in the now mostly empty sink and within a moment had the pot of pasta in his hands, pouring the boiling hot water into the colander. A plume of steam rose between them, engulfing one of his hands. Peter hissed a little, but then the water was out, the noodles were in the strainer and the steam had dissipated.

He sucked at one of his slightly reddened knuckles with a frown.

"Burn yourself?" Eddie crossed his arms, leaning his hip against the counter with a smug smile.

Peter shrugged. "It's fine." He transferred the drained noodles back into the pot, dripping hot water onto the floor in the process. Set the colander aside and grabbed his sauce, dumping it onto the noodles as he muttered, "I heal fast."

Silently, Eddie nodded. He watched Peter stir the noodles together. Watched him grab a couple of bowls and a clawed pasta spoon. Watched him dole out their servings, seemingly oblivious to Eddie's stare but probably more aware than he let on as he stuck a fork into either bowl.

"Here." Peter held one of the bowls out.

Eddie took it with a not-entirely-genuine smile, a little tight under the eyes. "Thanks."

Peter's voice followed him out of the kitchen—"You're a real weirdo, you know that?"

Eddie smirked, as he set his bowl on the dining table. "Well aware, Parker." He sat down with a huff. "You're not exactly typical, yourself."

Peter muttered something that sounded less than charitable on his way past—he did not sit at the table with Eddie, opting instead to disappear into his bedroom.

Less than five minutes passed before Eddie heard Peter open his door again.

He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, even at the stretch of awkward silence that passed before Peter spoke...

"Sorry I called you a weirdo."

A soft click as Peter shut his bedroom door.

Huh.

Roux clattered about in her corner, rolling around in her sand bath.

***

"Look—" Eddie held his hands out toward Dr. Schuyler. Smooth and clear—Now, in the interest of being honest with himself he knew that this was in part because whatever had infected him healed most scrapes and burns almost instantly, but he wasn't pulling this out of his ass entirely. He'd improved a lot in a very short amount of time, mostly thanks to the support of his friends (and Peter).

"Good, right?" He couldn't keep himself from smiling, not even smug—just genuine and open, for once in his life.

She smiled, too. "Very good, Eddie. You're doing really well; I'm proud of you."

Something about hearing that out loud—he couldn't remember the last time anyone had said they were proud of him... Maybe Anne, maybe an old college professor, but even that seemed unlikely... It seemed like adults stopped being proud of him by the time he entered high school, even when he excelled, even when he outshone himself. As he grew older, affirmations became fewer and less frequent, simplified into a rare "hey, great job" or even just "thanks."

Even Schuyler didn't really offer him a lot of praise—not of that sort, at least. Not "I'm proud of you." More medical, usually. "You're making good progress." That kind of thing.

But she was proud of him.

Eddie covered his face for a moment, with a deep breath.

"You okay, Eddie?"

He nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No, I just..." He cleared his throat. He didn't want to cry right now. He cried enough as it was. He didn't need more of it. "It's been a while. Since... someone said—" He took a deep breath and shook himself, trying to disperse that emotional ripple into something a little more stable. "...I'm fine."

"I understand." Dr. Schuyler paused, filling the brief silence with the tap-tap-tap of her pen, flipping between her fingers. "Do you like it when I tell you I'm proud of you, or would you prefer if I said something else?"

Eddie twined his fingers together, resting his forearms across his legs and dangling his hands between his knees. He thought, for a moment. "No, I... I like it." He glanced up at her. "But only if it's true."

"Alright. Eddie." She made a small note. "I'll only say it if I mean it."

He nodded. "Thank you."

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eddie: I don't have a crush on you guys. I just yearn for you constantly. totally platonic. 
> 
>  
> 
> it turns out a hamster and some friends goes a long way toward improving your mental health... having a support system is Important. also eddie is very tender at his therapy sessions, but that makes sense imo. it's a vulnerable kind of thing and he lets his guard down around dr. schuyler a lot. but he's having a good day (´；ω；`) (´•ω•̥`) 
> 
> also as an aside, I have not been able to work this in since Dr. Schuyler mentioned alternatives to self-harm but in my mind she's been encouraging Eddie to write in a journal when he gets emotionally overwhelmed or frustrated or mad or whatever.... also to put lotion on his hands instead. 
> 
> title from the song "[touch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBAfejjUQoA)" by little mix, cause song lyrics are easier to get titles from sometimes


	21. It’s what I do that defines me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie comes to a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Eddie's big fat crush on Flash and Betty  
> The Punisher, and his accessories (gun) (ha. the gun-isher.) (you can call me.... the _pun_ -isher 👈👈😎)  
> no firearms are discharged, just the threat of gun violence.  
> po....ssessive spider-man? protective spider-man? posstective spider-man... prossessive.

Eddie ran his hand through Betty's hair absentmindedly as they watched a documentary on the history of candy-making and confectionery. She lay with her head on a pillow in his lap, taking up most of the couch. One of her hands sat on his knee, rubbing her thumb in little circles. She seemed very intent, very focused. Eddie, on the other hand, felt sleep encroaching on his attention span. Between the low stakes of the documentary, the warmth of Betty's apartment, and her soothing touch... It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

Just as he thought he might fall asleep in earnest, Betty rolled onto her back to look up at him, patting him on the arm to grab his attention as if her movement hadn't already shaken him out of his half-doze. "Hey, Eddie?"

He looked down at her inquisitively.

 "When you said you liked us as friends..."

He sighed and let his head fall against the back of the couch. "I meant it."

"You're a bad liar. You know that?" Betty's hand danced up his arm, eventually settling on his shoulder.

He covered her hand with his own. "Who says I was lying?"

"Seriously?" She laughed and squeezed his hand.

"Seriously." Eddie looked back down at her—she grinned, and he couldn't help but smile in return as he murmured, "I wouldn't get between you two."

Betty sat up, then, releasing his hand. She grabbed her pillow from his lap and settled beside him, hugging it to her chest as she nestled into his side.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Well," Betty leaned her head on his shoulder. "If you ever change your mind."

Eddie turned his head so he could look at her better. Pulled a face—eyebrows drawn together but smiling. Amused. "What, you'll adopt me into your relationship?"

"I mean... Okay, there may be some minor roadblocks."

He had an idea of what those might be, just based on the way Flash responded to some of his more accidentally intimate affections. The facial journeys that man went on...

She settled against him more comfortably and said, "It's nice to think about, though."

"Yeah?" Eddie couldn't stop the little kick in his chest.

"Yeah." She drew her legs up under her, reaching up to take his hand as she did so.

Warmth spread across Eddie's face and up the back of his neck and he let out a quiet, noncommittal grunt.

He focused on the quiet sound of the documentary still playing in the background. Anything other than the sudden, unbidden imaginings creeping into his mind's eye. Chaste but still enough to get his heart racing. His lips on Betty's, on Flash's. Their arms around each other, the three of them. That was... probably the first time he'd allowed himself to entertain such thoughts. Despite the crush he'd been nursing on both Flash and Betty since his first foray into movie night—he pushed it out of his mind.

The narrator continued to drone on about the advent of ribbon candy, and Eddie rested his cheek against the top of Betty's head.

***

Why did trouble follow Eddie so incessantly?

As a child, as a young man, as an adult—his birth itself, the moment he was brought cursed into the world.

He moved as far as he could, single step by single step until his back pressed against the brick wall as he held eye contact with—of all people—the Punisher. Frank Castle, of course, vigilante anti-hero... Murderer, just like Eddie Brock.

"You're no better than me." Eddie smiled at him, his coping mechanism. His armor made of false confidence and illusory satisfaction.

Castle narrowed his eyes. He moved like he had all the time in the world. Maybe because he knew Eddie wasn't Venom anymore. That he was just a _human_.

"I don't kill 20 year old frat boys." His voice held all the implication he needed.

Eddie's stomach dropped. He shouldn't have been surprised. He had a mean swing and a mean streak. Of course that guy died. Who survives a fractured skull like that? Well, Eddie did, but that was beside the point. Eddie's smile faltered, jaw tightening as he swallowed down his disappointment. Should have known he wouldn't be able to leave that alleyway behind him.

"What?" Frank served him his own version of the smug smirk, briefly turning his attention downward, toward his hip. He raised one of his pistols. Still slow. Very deliberate as he met Eddie's eyes again. "Nothing to say to that?"

Eddie closed his eyes, barrel to his head. "How did you know?"

Castle laughed darkly. "You think those boys kept it to themselves? That they were _accosted_ by Eddie fucking Brock?" He pressed his gun a little harder to Eddie's temple.

Accosted? By him?

"Bullshit." Eddie spat the word out like it burned, and fixed his eyes on Frank again. "I didn't—" Castle jostled him, and he caught his words in the back of his throat with a sharp breath through his nose. "I didn't attack them."

Frank Castle (for maybe the _only_ time in his life) let his grip slacken somewhat. He glared at Eddie. "I'll humor you, Brock. If you didn't attack them, why's one of 'em dead?"

How was he expected to explain this to the _Punisher?_

"Baby vigilantes, just like you." Another jostle, Frank's forearm close to pressing into Eddie's windpipe. He tilted his head back against the wall as he spoke. "They wanted to _punish_ me. Just a guy minding his own business, dragged into an alley." Eddie tilted his head against the barrel of Frank's gun. "They didn't know they wanted to kill me but they were going to if I didn't fight back. Just like you're going to do."

Castle tilted his pistol just so that _if_ it went off, it would shoot into the sky—but the metal still pressed against Eddie's face. "What makes you think I'm gonna kill you?"

Eddie raised his eyebrows.

At that, Frank actually smiled. Not a soft or nice smile by any means, more like a sharp little barbed wire sneer, but amused at least.

"I see your point." He grabbed a fistful of Eddie's shirt and pulled him away from the wall—back out to the sidewalk. "I'm not the _Punisher_ for nothing, though, and if I kill you I'm not sure the _punishment_ part'll stick."

He shoved Eddie to his knees next to a street sign, with Eddie's hands on his forearm and his gun lifted out of reach—as if Eddie had even considered grabbing it—would ever consider it. He wasn't a gun person, even when he killed people on purpose. No, more of a hand-to-hand person, a physical man who loved the blood pumping through his veins and the feel of muscles and tendons under his palm, his teeth.

Eddie smiled up at Castle from where he knelt.

"The fuck are you grinning about?"

A soft chuckle, maybe dangerous. "You're pretty soft, for a murderer."

"Speak for yourself, you fucking psycho."

Eddie let his hands drift down to his sides. "You shouldn't use pejoratives, Mr. Castle..."

"You want pejorative?" Frank crouched in front of him, pressing a palm roughly to Eddie's forehead, as if he might be able to get ahold of some of his sparse hair. "I'll show you pejorative." He tilted Eddie's head back to bare his neck and there—there, he rested the end of his pistol. Cold metal against the soft flesh under his jawline. It dug in enough to hurt, but he still didn't pull the trigger.

Maybe because people were watching.

A crowd... gathering. Eddie could make them out in the corner of his vision, even with his eyes mostly skyward. People shuffling from a distance, watching. Full of questioning murmurs and hesitation. Eddie let his eyes close and let out a quiet laugh.

He wondered if this was truly it, after all the times he tried and failed to do it himself.

Someone called his name.

He frowned and opened his eyes, twisting to see better despite the gun jabbing into his neck. Though that pressure abated somewhat, as Frank drew back. Just slightly.

"Eddie!"

Pistol into holster just as Frank was pulled back, up to his feet, by his shoulder—

By none other than Spider-Man himself.

Eddie remained on his knees, though he stared.

But Spider-Man's attention wasn't even on him, now. No, it was on Frank Castle.

"What do you think you're _doing_?"

Castle pulled a face, mostly disbelief. "The fuck you _think_ I'm doin'?"

"I think you're about to shoot a man in the head in front of thirty people!" Spidey stepped back, letting his hands settle on his hips. "There are children watching! For _shame_."

Spider-Man and the Punisher watched each other for a moment.

"I'm doing you a _favor_." Leveled his gun at Eddie—

"No. You don't touch him." Spider-Man stepped into Castle's space. Got him to take a step back, even. "He's mine. Got it, Batman?" He poked Castle in the chest, like a kid trying to be threatening, up on his toes. " _Mine_."

The Punisher stared him down—but then he just rolled his eyes. "Fine." He held his hands up, pistol to the sky. Turned his back to Spider-Man. "Don't say I never tried to help you out."

And then he was gone, down the street, into the dispersing crowd.

Spider-Man turned his attention on Eddie. He held his arm out, tilting his head—maybe to appear friendly. Hard to tell from those big white eyes. Eddie grabbed his hand and let himself be pulled upright. He looked down at Spider-Man wordlessly. Something... so familiar in the set of his shoulders. Not just Spidey-familiar. Something else.

Eddie let his hand go.

"Thanks."

Spider-Man shrugged. "I already get a bad rap." He stepped away, just a half-step as he prepared to leave. "I don't need public executions on my street corners."

Fair enough.

"Take care, big guy." A pat on the shoulder.

 _Thwip_ —gone on a line of webbing.

Eddie watched him swing away.

Took a moment to process those parting words.

 _Big guy_.

Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ok literally my ONLY exposure to Frank is in New Ways to Live and in fucking, Hell's Kitchen Movie Club (which is a very good fancomic I recommend in which Frank Castle and Bucky Barnes watch movies together: [link](http://alexdecampi.tumblr.com/tagged/hells-kitchen-movie-club) ) so like, I'm not sure what constitutes "in" or "out" of character as far as the goddamn Punisher goes, all I know is he was a huge asshole to Eddie but Eddie... also.... crushed a dude's skull under his heel so???????????????? Actually Frank did not seem to have a lot of care for human life and the fact that he lumped "junkie" in as being some kind of crime that rendered Jenna irredeemable made me want to fucking deck him so u kno what, nevermind. He's a dick.
> 
> Also, why is he here? IDFK. Cause I needed him to be. Sometimes you're floundering for a plot so you throw a wrench in things. It's contrived, it's out of nowhere, and he's never gonna show up again--indulge me. I needed a way for Eddie to realize who Spider-Man is via being rescued--okay to be fair it didn't NEED it i just wanted it to happen. so. frank.
> 
>  
> 
> frank: What makes you think I'm gonna kill you?  
> eddie: oh I dunno maybe the LOADED GUN you keep shoving in my face
> 
>  
> 
> man okay, making reference back to the chapter where eddie got beat up ([ch 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343053/chapters/40902743)) made more sense before i deleted a brief scene recently about him remembering that but... eh.... oh well i guess. this entire fic is kind of a rollercoaster in terms of coherent plot lmfao  
> the thing about this fic?  
> is that it's a barely planned disaster in almost every way  
> but  
> that's fine


	22. Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie confronts Peter and worries with Betty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c

11 pm already—Peter had to be home soon. But it could be one of those nights where he didn't come home until later.

Eddie paced, hands behind his back, chewing on his lip as his mind raced with various anxieties and suspicions and self-doubts. Roux poked around in her cage, making just enough noise to keep him from getting sucked into his thoughts entirely. He stopped pacing, and sat down beside her cage. She sniffed at him, when he stuck his hand in, but seemed more interested in her dinner. He gave her one little poke, but left her alone after that.

Okay.

So maybe his roommate was his ex-nemesis.

He couldn't know for sure, though. There were a lot of people in the world, and a lot of people in New York. A lot of people in Queens alone. Could have been anyone. Plenty of people sounded and moved similar, right? But... Lean, powerful, kind of awkward underneath it all.. About 5'11". Stubborn. All too familiar in his tone of voice, his inflection.

"Shit."

Then—the lock turned, and almost before Peter could enter the apartment Eddie was on his feet. Peter closed the door behind him and before he could do his triple-check ritual, Eddie was on him, hands fisted in his shirt to pin his shoulders against the door.

" _You_ —"

Peter looked up at him with wide eyes, but he didn't move.

"You ruined my life."

At that, Peter really could not resist his little sense of humor. He glanced to the side and pointed to himself, as if Eddie could have been talking to anyone else. "Who, me?"

Eddie shoved him. "Don't play with me, _Spider-Man_."

Peter froze with his hands half-raised. Holding his breath completely, expression suddenly serious.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Eddie tightened his grip on Peter's shirt and leaned so close their foreheads almost brushed. "You're Spider-Man."

Peter licked his lips. Sighed, and let his head drop slightly. "What gave it away?"

"I _live_ with you, _big guy_."

"Okay, you got me, I'm Spider-Man." Peter wrapped his fingers around Eddie's wrists. "So you know you can't really do anything to me." He grinned, cheeky. Playful. "Unless you really _are_ you again?" He knew he wasn't though, judging by the glint in his eye. The almost gentle way his hands tightened on Eddie's arms.

Eddie loosened his hold with a glare. "I'm not."

He tried to pull away, but Peter still had his wrists in that super-powered grip of his. Playing with him.

His thumbs pressed into Eddie's scars.

Spider-Man— _Peter_ —had saved Eddie's life more times than he had ever wanted.

Peter let him go.

Eddie turned away and strode toward the couch. He fell into the cushions with a grunt, and leveled a stare on Peter.

Finally, softly, he asked, "Who else knows?"

Peter shook his head. "Does it matter?"

"No." Eddie let his head lean back, closing his eyes as he listened to Peter's footsteps fade toward his bedroom, then back out. Across the living room, past the couch, into the kitchen. A brief burst of running water, then the sound of Peter going through the pots and pans, the silverware.

Eddie cracked an eye open to watch him through the doorway.

Peter ignored him.

***

 Betty frowned. "How long are you going to be gone?"

Over speakerphone, Flash's voice came through crackly and a little distorted—"I'm not sure. A little while. I'll try to keep you posted, but I don't know if I'll have time."

She sighed.

This was unfair.

He kept going off on his own, doing his thing for the military—they never knew where he went, and usually it was only a week at a time but even that became frustrating as the breaks between grew briefer and briefer. And now he was in _Nevada_?

"I miss you, Flash." Betty paused, catching Eddie's eye as he brought some tea into the living room for them. " _We_ miss you."

Flash's breath crackled over the phone as he said, "I know, w—I miss you guys too."

Eddie blinked away that slip—he must have been imagining things.

Betty leaned forward. "I love you."

"Hey, I love you too." Flash laughed quietly. "And, hey, Eddie?"

Eddie grunted. "What."

"You two take care of each other for me, okay?"

"...Okay." Eddie sat beside Betty, handing her one of the steaming mugs as he settled into the cushions.

"I'll talk to you guys later."

Betty cupped her tea in her hands and said, "Bye."

Flash hung up.

She sighed again.

She and Eddie sat in silence for a few moments, just drinking their tea on the couch, shoulders brushing slightly. Distantly, the usual city noises filtered through the closed window. A dog started barking somewhere. Something tingled at the back of Eddie's neck, not unlike the sensation he had gotten as Venom—

A knock at the door.

"Oh, that must be Peter."

Betty set her tea on the coffee table and got up to answer the door.

It was indeed Peter and he hugged her tightly before loping over to the couch on his long legs. He plopped down next to Eddie and sprawled his arms out behind Eddie's shoulders, as Betty reclaimed her spot. Eddie and Peter looked at each other a moment—Betty didn't know, of course. Eddie gave Peter a small, curt nod, and Peter smiled at him, a little too satisfied. Gave him a tap on the shoulder as if to say thanks, as Betty settled into Eddie's side.

The TV went on—no movie in particular, just the Food Network—and the three of them relaxed into a comfortable quietness.

Eddie fell asleep, and when he woke up he found himself tucked under a blanket on the couch. Peter sat nearby, frowning down at his phone as he presumably texted someone. Betty was in the kitchen, quiet on her phone, probably ordering pizza. Eddie stretched, with a teased-out sigh, and pushed himself upright.

"Morning, sunshine." Peter didn't look up from his phone.

Eddie grunted at him.


	23. Let's talk about this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's prayers are answered, in a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:  
> Worrying  
> Prayer and guilt.   
> Discomfort and physical pain.   
> Anger/emotions  
>  **There's a brief moment of suicidal ideation in the middle, right after the asterisk split.** It's like, two sentences.

Flash had been gone for two weeks without a word, and Las Vegas appeared to be succumbing to some kind of Hellish apocalypse.

God, Eddie hoped Flash wasn't in Las Vegas, specifically, but something in his gut twisted as he and Betty watched the news on her computer. She'd dug her fingers into his arm so hard it hurt but he couldn't bring himself to shake her off—she was probably more worried than him, at that point. They watched the shaky helicopter footage, a video on Twitter showing pillars of flame and cracking ground miles away, slightly out of focus and covered by a sheer heat mirage that made everything shift and warp.

"I'm gonna call him."

Betty grabbed her cellphone and began to pace as she dialed and held the phone up to her ear, one arm around herself. Fingers tapping.

Eddie could hear the disconnection notice pretty clearly.

 _We're sorry. The number you are currently trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later_.

Betty swore, under her breath.

Most of the other videos on Twitter, Facebook—everywhere—were the same as the first, just from slightly different angles, or even further away.  

Betty called Peter.

"Have you heard from Flash?"

Indistinct but, judging by the way her shoulders fell, that was a no.

"Alright... bye."

Betty set her phone on the desk and moved to Eddie's side. He looped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. He could just hear her heartbeat when he leaned his head against her chest—she wrapped her arms around him and mumbled, "I'm worried about him..."

"Me too." Eddie pulled back slightly, but he stood and tugged her into a much firmer embrace.

They stayed like that for a while.

***

He could have wrapped his rosary around his own neck, so full of frustration and irritation. Tightened it right then and there but—

But instead he coiled it around his wrist and bowed his head.

It was late. Much later than Eddie usually prayed. Peter was in the kitchen making dinner, and most of the light came from the kitchen doorway, fluorescent and sallow. The small clinks here and there comforted Eddie. He could hear Peter singing unintelligibly under his breath, as well, and that was a comfort too. Let him forget his worries for a few seconds as he prayed—for guidance, for word from Flash, for continued forgiveness.

It felt like, no matter what he did, he couldn't quite shake sin from his hands.

Yes, he had been exonerated; yes, he tried to do better. But... so much of it sat like a thin veneer, ready to be chipped away by his own hand.

By baseball bats and resentment.

He reached up to feel the back of his head. There was no scar, no dent, no nothing. His hair had grown normally, everything healed smooth and perfect by this point.

Deep in his thoughts, he wished it had scarred permanently.

Peter didn't interrupt him, but he heard the thunk of a bowl being set on the table, followed by Peter walking away and shutting himself into his room, like always.

Eddie loosened the rosary from around his wrist, letting the beads slide around until they fell away, leaving pink marks in his skin where they'd pressed a little too hard, where he'd pulled a little too tightly. He set the rosary on the side table, where he tended to keep it permanently now. Now that he felt secure, like he could leave his stuff around. Like he didn't have to worry about being thrown out or fired.

Even if he lived with Spider-Man.

He ate in the dark, and washed his bowl in the dark, showered and brushed his teeth in the dark, and changed in the dark.

Laid down on the couch, under his blankets, and closed his eyes.

Listened to Roux running on her wheel.

Something tapped on the window and he shot upright, suddenly itchy all over.

Barely visible in the darkness outside the window—a face.

Black mask, with white-rimmed lenses. Spiked spaulders.

Eddie's breath caught in his throat. Frozen, caught in the dual headlights of Agent Venom's expressionless stare.

Why?

Why him? What had he done to deserve this? Was this punishment? Retribution?

He'd had it too good, too long, and something had to give.

Agent Venom tapped on his window again.

Eddie reached out over the back of the couch, cursing himself for being a fool but flipping the locks anyway. He pushed the window open maybe an inch before Agent Venom pulled it up the rest of the way, one-handed, as he (they? the two of them?) clambered into the apartment.

Eddie's skin crawled.

On their way in, Agent Venom's hand brushed Eddie's arm—Agent Venom yelped, and Eddie grunted, recoiling at the sharp shock of pain that lanced up to his shoulder, through his very bones.

No.

" _Flash?_ "

Agent Venom froze, with his hand clutched to his chest.

"Wow. I can't even break the news myself?"

A little metallic-sounding, but undeniably, intimately familiar.

Eddie struggled to keep his breathing in check, with the cool autumn breeze drifting in through the window at his back, carrying the sounds of late night traffic and raucous Sunday drinkers. He couldn't, though. Couldn't keep calm. His heart felt like it might beat straight out of his ears and his chest felt tight and his throat felt all twisted up into a knot and he dug his fingers into the couch cushion as his face contorted into what must have been quite the sight to behold—

"Eddie." Black slipped away from Flash's face, revealing his scruff and his long hair and his tired eyes as he crouched in front of Eddie. " _Relax_."

Eddie glowered. "You..." His hands balled up into fists in his blanket.

"I know, it's a lot to take in—"

"You _son of a bitch_ —" Eddie caught himself, voice cracking.

Peter could probably hear them. Probably heard the scuffle on the way in.

Sure enough, he heard Peter say his name, as the bedroom door opened a crack. "Eddie? Is someone... with..." Peter trailed off.

" _Shit_." Flash straightened up with a sigh, stepping back slightly. "Hey, Pete."

Peter stared.

And stared some more.

And then—"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

Flash gasped. " _Peter Parker_." He crossed his arms, sternly, back straight—it was strange to see him standing upright. "You kiss Aunt May with that mouth?"

Peter made it across the room faster than Eddie could process and grabbed Flash by the chin guard on his breastplate. He tugged him down so they were eye to eye, toe to toe—Flash stood a few inches taller than him—and he growled, " _Eugene Thompson_ , this better not be what I think it is."

Flash raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, Jesus—Don't call me that—" He reached to pry Peter's hand from his armor but of course Peter's fingers stuck firm. "I know you're friends with Spider-Man but this feels like an overreaction."

A huff, frustrated—but Peter let Flash go, and took a step back.

"... _Venom_ , Flash? Really?"

Flash shrugged. "It's complicated." His expression grew more serious, then, and he looked away from both Peter and Eddie. "Really complicated."

"Venom is _dangerous_ , Flash—" Peter glanced over at Eddie, and pursed his lips.

"It's fine, Peter. I'm fine."

Peter ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. "It's just..." He looked up at Flash. "I don't want you to get hurt."

The unspoken "again" hung in the air between them.

Flash raised a hand to rub the spot between his eyebrows, grimacing slightly. He nodded though. "I know. I can handle this. I promise."

He looked at Eddie.

Eddie looked back at him.

Itching and itching and itching under his skin.

The armor receded—all of it except the spiked, black shins and kneecaps—and Flash knelt in front of Eddie, in his gray t-shirt and his combat pants. He didn't touch him. Just held eye contact, in the darkness, with Peter off to the side shuffling awkwardly.

Finally, he spoke, voice soft. "Eddie... I'm afraid that if I try to touch you right now, I'll really hurt you, and maybe me too... but I want to talk about this. Okay?" He paused. Fumbled. "Is—is that... okay? Can we talk?"

Eddie didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded wordlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's, uh... stressed out. But he'll be okay.
> 
> Also I'm not having flash do that thing where he pushed Betty away and relapsed. cause.... i don't wanna.
> 
>  
> 
> _One, nothing wrong with me  
>  Two, nothing wrong with me  
> Three, nothing wrong with me  
> Four, nothing wrong with me  
> One, something's got to give  
> Two, something's got to give  
> Three, something's got to give  
> [nOOOOOOW](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04F4xlWSFh0)_
> 
> I'm sorry I can't be serious for more than a few seconds at a time


	24. Need to (not) be alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie doesn't cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:   
> Some awkwardness, some sweetness, more of Eddie's crush  
> lots of emotions  
> Peter is very nice to Eddie in this chapter
> 
> woobification beam: activate

Flash Thompson was Agent Venom.

Somehow this was much worse than finding out about Peter.

It was 2 am, and Eddie was exhausted after a long, emotionally draining conversation with Flash—Flash, who now sat at the kitchen table (still with those armored legs) drinking chocolate milk, with a straw, still the same goofy man he'd always been.

Peter had gone back to his room, to give them a semblance of privacy, though Eddie imagined he probably heard every word.

Eddie sat cocooned in his blankets on the couch, knees tucked up under his chin, hugging himself. Dry-eyed the entire time but so tired. So full of physical and mental discomfort, trying to ignore the intrusive feeling under his skin.

Flash used his straw to stir his glass of chocolate milk awkwardly.

With a small exhale, Eddie asked, "Have you told Betty?"

Flash laughed, under his breath. "No, not yet." He licked his lips, and looked over at Eddie. Something gentle in his eyes. "I... I thought you should know first. Considering..." He gestured at himself. "Considering your history."

"...Right." Eddie curled his toes against the edge of the couch cushion.

Flash sipped at his chocolate milk in silence.

Roux continued to run in her wheel, a little reassuring whirrrrrrrrrrrrr in the background.

Flash looked over, toward the corner where her cage sat. He had turned the lamp on, when he got his milk, so she was clearly visible in all her fluffy blonde sweetness, and he smiled as he watched her run. Such a gentle smile, softening the roughness of his stubble and the bags under his eyes.

Those eyes turned on him, and they stayed soft, and Flash asked, "Hey, can I hold her?"

What was he going to say? No? Eddie nodded and extricated himself from his blankets, to retrieve Roux—she came readily, nuzzling into his palms, and he knelt a moment by her cage. Just thinking. He didn't know how he would hand her off to Flash without touching him. He didn't want to accidentally drop her or hurt her if either of them reacted too strongly. He cupped her carefully between his hands and carried her over to the table.

"How should I..." Flash reached out, but hesitated.

Eddie used his hands to keep Roux from walking off the edge of the table, and nudged her toward Flash, gently. "Put your hand out flat." He avoided meeting Flash's eyes.

"Okay." Flash flattened his hand out against the table, palm up, close to Roux. She sniffed him, and it must have tickled because he laughed as she crawled up onto his hand. He placed his other hand over her with such careful movements, like he was afraid she might break if he so much as breathed wrong. "Hey..." He smiled. "You're so _soft_."

If he could have, without worrying about Roux getting dropped or squeezed, Eddie would have reached out right then—pain or no pain. But he kept his hands to himself.

Just sitting so close to Flash left him with burning eyes and aching bones and stinging skin—he left the kitchen table and sat on the couch again to put some distance between them, pulling his blankets around him like that might protect him. He leaned on the arm of the couch to watch Flash silently.

He looked so normal.

His usual scruffy self, maybe a little worse for the wear than usual, but overall just so... normal.

Except for those armored shins. Those above-the-knee symbiotic prostheses.

They looked solid. Matte and hard, with joints and layers—completely different from the fluidity of Eddie's relationship with the very same symbiote. Rigid. He couldn't tell if Flash's pants were real or not but the way the white stripes up the sides caught the light felt familiar. He turned his attention upward and caught Flash watching him about as seriously as he had been watching Flash, though he stroked Roux's back gently with his thumb.

For a moment, Flash didn't say anything, though he held eye contact.

But then, very quietly, he said, "I understand if you hate me now."

Eddie let out a carefully measured breath.

"I don't hate you..." He rubbed his face. "...but I think I need you to leave."

Flash nodded, and finally looked away.

He carried Roux back to her cage and put her away for Eddie, without saying anything. Lingered in the middle of the living room before leaving, out the front door. Eddie almost thought he heard a soft "goodbye," but he couldn't quite be sure.

For a few minutes, Eddie just sat in his spot on the couch, in the light of the lamp, with the open window at his back. Curled in on himself.

Little thoughts jostled in the back of his head, sharp and unpleasant. He tried to ignore them but it was difficult, and he was tired, and he couldn't keep his jealousy and betrayal and frustration at bay—all wrapped up in black tendrils and thorns. His wrists itched and he had to keep himself from digging his nails into his skin.

He couldn't _do_ this.

"Peter—"

Almost the second Eddie said his name, Peter opened his bedroom door.

Funny to think how, despite their oh-so-rocky start and despite the turmoil of the past few days—despite Spider-Man—Peter still rushed over to him. No jokes, no digs, just a quiet, "Hey, hey," and calloused hands on the side of his head. Eddie didn't look up, of course, but he knew Peter was watching him carefully, for any signs of... anything.

"Are you okay?"

Eddie shook his head.

"Okay," Peter sighed. "I'm not really good at... this kinda stuff, but, uh... you know."

He moved his hands to Eddie's shoulders, then—very carefully—pulled him into a hug. Eddie let himself be held, a little stiff but grateful for the human contact, even if it was more intimacy than he and Peter had ever displayed toward each other. After a few seconds, he managed to uncurl himself and actually returned the embrace. There was something comforting in knowing that he could hug as tightly as he needed to without worrying about injuring Peter.

"Okay—" Peter patted Eddie's back awkwardly. "Guess we're doing this, huh?" But he didn't pull away or disengage, just pushed at Eddie to move so he wouldn't have to crouch like a folded up spider.

The couch was in no way big enough for the two of them, but somehow Eddie ended up smashed against the back of the couch with Peter at his back—probably on the verge of slipping, with his arms locked around Eddie's waist.

He woke up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's just say, for the sake of simplicity, venom is not currently possessed by a demon, but that storyline could probably still happen at a later point after the events of this fic, idk lol
> 
> also assume flash told eddie everything about what he's been doing for the past however long, and that he figured out that eddie had been cleansing him but still didn't understand how
> 
>  
> 
> I'm like.... almost done?? I think. I'm working on chapter 27 and it's pretty near to the end, it feels like.   
> And there will be a happy ending just as a reminder, or at least bittersweet? The symbiote is the biggest challenge for this cause I don't wanna drag this out longer and I don't want to magically make Eddie okay with the symbiote but I also didn't want Flash to just abandon it to the military since it's a person and I think he has found compassion for it earlier on than in the comics.


	25. Okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:   
> bad mental health day--minor self harm  
> peter still being a good dude, w/ some vague refs to early 2000s comics  
> crying, emotions  
> admission of love (finally)

Eddie called in sick, on Peter's phone.

He knew he couldn't work, not today. Not after his late night, his rough sleep; after Flash's revelation.

It took everything he had just to keep it together during breakfast.

He caught himself picking and biting at his cuticles and nails until his fingers bled—he stopped, then.

"Heeey, so..." Peter leaned on the wall, jacket and shoes on, bag slung over his shoulder. "I have to go to work, but..." He took a breath, and sighed, and made a face. "My cellphone's on the counter in the kitchen and I wrote down the school's number, so if you need anything... I want you to call me, okay?"

Eddie frowned slightly, curled up on the couch, with his fingers all bandaged.

"Just don't—don't break my phone. 'Kay?"

Eddie drew his blankets tighter around him. Much like the night before. "...why?"

Peter snorted. "Well, I don't really wanna buy a new one—"

"No." Eddie glared at him. "Why are you... _doing_ this?"

For a moment, Peter simply watched him. Then he sighed and let his bag slide from his shoulder, and walked over to sit beside Eddie on the couch. "Listen, man." He set his hand gingerly on Eddie's shoulder and when Eddie showed no signs of moving away, gave it a squeeze. "We've been living together for a while now, and like I said the last time you asked me this, caring about people is kinda what I do. But..." He chewed his lip for a moment as he considered his words.

"I mean, okay, for better or worse, you know I'm Spider-Man now. So, think about it. I..." He rubbed his face with one hand. "Spider-Man's seen you at... probably your worst, right? You... you were pretty fucked up, you know? And I don't—I don't want to just... I know you don't have cancer or anything right now, obviously, and you have, you know, at least half a support system, and you seem a lot... happier lately."

"But... I just—I'm kinda worried, is all. And—and—and just based on your... _history_... I don't want to come home to..." Peter waved his hand in an uncertain, awkward gesture.

Eddie looked down at the floor, and nodded.

"Just... call me if you need to, please."

Eddie shrugged Peter's hand away but he said, "Okay."

Peter gave him one more pat before leaving.

Left alone in the apartment (except for Roux, asleep), Eddie took a shuddering breath.

His capacity for bottling it up had reached its cap, now, for certain.

He sat there, on the couch, and finally just let himself cry.

Eddie couldn't even tell what emotion dominated—after weeks of thoughts worming his way into his head, of (God forbid) missing his old relationship, and the accompanying shame and frustration; after trying to forget and not being able to... now, for the new Venom to be one of his closest and only friends...

With the slightest tremble, Eddie scrubbed his hands over his face. That didn't stop the tears by any means, but just letting them soak his face felt so silly, so childish. Like he wasn't _already_ childish, curled up on the couch, sobbing like this.

He didn't know how long he cried for, but when he finally composed himself, his head pounded and all he wanted to do was to lay down and take a nap.

Instead, he forced himself to get a glass of water.

He needed to think.

He loved Flash. Even if he couldn't admit it face-to-face, he could admit it to himself. He loved Flash.

He used to love being Venom. He missed it. He wanted to love the creature that had formed his other half—no, that wasn't right. He still loved it, and he didn't _want_ to love it, after everything that had happened, but he couldn't stop the memories and fantasies from crowding into his head any time he was alone.

He _wanted_ to hate it.

He wanted to hate Flash.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Maybe he could be okay with Flash keeping it. Wouldn't have to rebond with it, wouldn't have to feel it again. But could he do that? Could he be around the two of them without asking for more? Without desiring the old familiarity of black flesh slipping under his skin?

And what about the pain? Would the gradual touching work? Would that grow an immunity in him? Or was the only reason that ever worked because Flash had never been around him with the symbiote itself present? Just traces, according to the things Flash had told him. What if it never stopped hurting? Could he handle not being able to touch Flash anymore? Not even a brush of the hand?

Eddie swallowed the growing lump in his throat.

Betty. He had Betty. He loved Betty and her dark brown eyes and her soft skin and the way she wrinkled her nose when she talked about writing.

But he wanted them _both_. As if he could have them. Selfish.

There was no way. Sure, Betty seemed open to it, and Flash didn't seem... opposed. But... but there was no way. There was no room for Eddie in their relationship, especially not now. He took up so much space with his emotions and his insecurities. Too neurotic. Too depressed. Betty didn't deserve to deal with that, and Flash seemed to have his own issues—he didn't need more.

Even without _Venom_.

Eddie picked up Peter's phone from where it sat on the counter.

Betty picked up after five rings.

"Hello?" She seemed confused.

"It's Eddie." He cleared his throat. "Peter left me his phone."

Betty paused, then: "I see. Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, you're probably getting ready to leave, aren't you?"

She laughed quietly. "Stunning detective work, sweetheart."

Eddie smiled very small, and weak, and tired. "I always do my research."

"Mm-hm. Of course you do." Betty seemed like she might be smiling too, by the sound of it. "So what do you need, Eddie?"

He sighed.

Honesty, openness—"I'm having a difficult morning and I wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh," Softened tone. "I'm sorry you're having a hard time, but I'm flattered you thought of me. Oh, maybe that's self-centered." She laughed again. "It's true, though."

"Nothing wrong with a little self-centeredness sometimes."

She hummed.

Sighed.

"I have to go, Eddie, I'm sorry."

He nodded—she couldn't see that, so he said, "Okay."

"I'll talk to you later."

"I love you." He just said it, didn't even think about it.

She was silent for a moment, and Eddie closed his eyes.

"Eddie..." She took her time, but after a few seconds of deliberation, said, "I think you should come over tonight."

"Okay." He could barely bring himself to breathe.

"I love you too, Eddie. I'll see you tonight."

Let it all out in a soft rush. "I'll be there."

Betty hung up on him, and he held the phone by his ear for a while longer, feeling his heart beat in his chest. Warm and fast... He set the phone aside, and took a sip of his water, and stood in the kitchen counting his breaths.

He should have asked her if she'd heard from Flash yet.

She could still be worried sick—and all Eddie had thought about was himself.

He could ask her when they saw each other, though.

***

Eddie sat on one end of the couch, Flash sat on the other, and Betty sat between them with a stern expression.

She wasn't mad. She sighed and let her head rest in her hand. "I really, honestly thought we would be able to have a nice talk about our relationship but, wow." She leaned back with her arms across the back of the couch. "At least you told me, I guess."

Flash mumbled something unintelligible but apologetic.

She reached out to take his hand—and reached out to take Eddie's hand as well. Looked at Eddie a moment, fondly. "Hey," She squeezed his hand. "Talk to me."

Eddie leaned slightly into her, shoulder-to-shoulder, until he could rest his head against hers. He hesitated... what if it had all been some kind of elaborate ruse? A built-up joke at his expense, just to throw him off. Mess with him. He took a deep breath and shoved those thoughts out of his head and said, softly, "I don't want to lose you."

"You think you're going to?" Flash. Barely audible.

Shifting slightly, Eddie shook his head. "I can't tell."

Betty let go of his hand, but she took hold of the back of his head, just to hold him close. She pressed their foreheads together and moved both her hands to cup his jaw. "We want you here, Eddie."

He believed her.

"But the symbiote."

She closed her eyes, still forehead-to-forehead with him. "We'll figure something out."

On her other side, behind her, Flash reached out—but he pulled back, and folded his hands in his lap. All visible in Eddie's peripheral vision, even if he couldn't make out any details, or his expression. Too busy looking slightly cross-eyed at Betty's face, and her dark eyelashes.

Eddie closed his eyes too. Focused on the way Betty's thumbs traced little circles over his cheekbones. Just breathed.

He closed the gap between them.

Betty's breath caught slightly, more surprised than anything else, but she didn't push him away. The opposite, in fact. She kissed him back, gently, until he broke it to look at her for any signs of displeasure or disappointment. She smiled, though, hands still on his face. Then she glanced over her shoulder, smile turning into a self-satisfied grin, and she raised her eyebrows at Flash.

A blush rose up his cheeks, reddening his ears.

She leaned across to kiss him as well, just as brief and gentle. "Jealous?"

Flash scoffed. "I'm not—" He floundered, and crossed his arms. "Why would I be jealous?"

Betty rolled her eyes. "Flash, honey, we've talked about this." She put one hand on his cheek, mirroring her position with Eddie, and said, "It's _okay_."

He looked down at his lap, still blushing. A little strand of hair fell forward from where it was tucked behind his ear. His voice was very quiet when he spoke—"It doesn't matter." He twisted his hands together. "Can't touch him, anyway."

Eddie felt a little kick in his stomach, somewhere between giddy and nervous.

"Well, can't you just do the thing you did last time?"

Flash shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't actually have this... the symbiote. It wasn't with me." He took a breath. "I'm worried this might actually hurt one of us. Or both of us. I don't know." He looked up, finally. "I don't want to hurt you, Eddie."

Something in his eyes told Eddie he meant more than just physically.

Eddie buried his face in Betty's neck so he wouldn't have to see that face. He breathed in the smell of soap and cinnamon, locking his arms around her in a tight hug.

Soft and warm.

Safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing the first part: ಥ_ಥ   
> me, writing the second part: (´•w•̥`) ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ 
> 
> betty w her two boyfriends now.... they gotta work through some stuff but it's fine


	26. I'm not going to hurt you anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contents:   
> Some anxiousness, reference to The Hunger (2003),   
> more physical pain!  
> some crying (but not eddie, for once)  
> kissing and affection
> 
>  
> 
> this is the end! decided to just make ch 26 a little longer rather than try to make a whole 27th chapter.

"So get this." Flash moved from the couch to his wheelchair. "I've been... well, I've been spying, basically, and it turns out there's this chemical or something that makes the symbiote calm, some kind of neuro...brain thing—"

Eddie cut him off. "I know. Phenethylamine."

Flash tilted his head. "You know?"

Eddie nodded.

"It's found in chocolate. And when you're in love." He ran a hand up his arm, feeling the hairs there as they rose with goosebumps in the open air. "...My brain didn't make enough of it." He licked his lips. "You can buy supplements. I never really had the money."

Both Betty and Flash watched him, for a moment—Flash with his hands on his wheels, and Betty curled up beside Eddie on the couch, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He glanced away.

Eventually, Flash asked, "What does it do?"

"Makes it happy." Eddie almost smiled, remembering the first time. The way it had wrapped around him, so content and heavy with affection. "Keeps it sane, and healthy." He wrapped his arm around Betty's waist and pulled her closer as he spoke. "There are other chemicals it needs. Dopamine, serotonin. Some it doesn't, like cortisol... " His jaw tightened. "Adrenaline."

Betty placed a hand on his chest, just listening.

"I—" Eddie looked up at Flash for just a moment, then away. "Adrenal cancer, it—" He didn't know what he even wanted to say. Didn't want to say anything. "I think this is all my fault."

Flash moved back toward the couch with a soft noise. "Hey, no—" He raised his hand, took it back. Chose to grip the rims on his wheels instead. "I don't—I mean, I've... I've seen..." He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it between his fingers. "I saw what you went through. It's not... your fault."

"You saw."

Through the symbiote, undoubtedly.

Did it show him on purpose? Did it slip through the cracks?

Eddie rubbed his palm across his mouth.

"Yeah, I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Saw him in memories, most likely. Weak and pathetic, tear-stained and frail even in his bulk. Curled up on the floor, waiting for his other, _wanting_ his other, wanting it to leave him alone but never leave him again. Vulnerable and terrified and desperate. Dependent. A dying man relying on the creature that drained him to also hold him and keep him alive.

Not even Spider-Man— _Peter_. Not even Peter had seen that.

And Peter had seen him _die_.

Eddie ran his hands over his face.

"So you know why this is hard for me."

"Yeah." Flash kept rubbing his hands, like he couldn't keep still.

Betty unfolded her legs. "I don't know what exactly you two are talking about but..." She took one of Eddie's hands between her own. "I have some baking chocolate. If that helps."

That cracked a smile from Eddie's stern face. He squeezed her hand fondly.

"Can't hurt." Flash finally wheeled himself away, toward the kitchen like he'd meant to do in the first place.

Eddie shook his head. "Can't hurt."

***

Seeing the armor somehow... it made it easier.

" **Eddie.** "

But not that easy.

Flash's version of Venom watched him, inscrutable, expressionless. Goggles and spikes.

Betty sat nearby, watching. Wide-eyed.

"Alright," Eddie took a deep, trembling breath as he spread his arms wide. "I'm ready."

" **I'm not.** "

But Agent Venom stepped toward him—Eddie flinched before they even touched. He screwed his eyes shut and willed himself to take consistent breaths. Focus on the physical. The itch, the crawl. He could handle _that_ much better than he could the prospect of reuniting with his other. Not that reunion was the plan, but he couldn't keep himself from wondering, deep in his thoughts, if it would try to abandon Flash for him. Try to take him for itself again, captive and small.

He had thought being chest-to-chest with Flash hurt.

This was much worse, and it was just hands on his shoulders.

Eddie opened his eyes.

Flash had gone paper-white, all the color drained from his face. But he didn't pull back. His fingers dug into Eddie's shoulders and he stepped forward, in his symbiotic armor. He wrapped his arms around Eddie and Eddie bit back a strangled noise as he closed his arms around Flash in turn, stiff and halting. The edges of his vision blurred white. He felt halfway outside of his own body, like he could hear his own breathing from across the room, too fast and too shallow to be healthy. But he could also feel the way his breaths caught in his throat with broken-off whimpers.

Reduced to a frightened animal, in pain.

His knees must have buckled—he couldn't really tell. He couldn't really see or hear or feel much at all. Just his body, like some kind of burning thing. Like he might burst into flame at any moment. He could only hope his auto-piloted limbs wouldn't lash out or do anything disruptive enough to warrant worried neighbors calling the police.

What a time to be worrying about that.

Swimming in whiteness, barely conscious.

Even the pain had become something more akin to an itch he could barely feel anymore.

That was probably bad.

Was he even alive?

This was a mistake. What if they killed each other?

He heard someone saying his name.

No, not saying... Feeling? Forming him out of millions of tiny details and concepts. Colors and smells and images, memories. All of it coalescing to form this interpretation of being that could be considered his name, long and sweet and soft.

 **Eddiiiiieeee**.....................

He came to with a hoarse, choking gasp—

"Eddie!" Betty knocked him onto his back with the force of her embrace, but then scrambled off of him, to grab Flash.

Flash lay there, very still, surrounded by a black puddle—but he was breathing. Barely, with his eyes half-open.

A shudder ran up Eddie's spine, accompanied by this strange bristle of whiteness over his skin.

He reached out to touch Flash—the whiteness spiked, and he grunted at the sudden stab of pain, but it was manageable. Like getting kicked in the face. He dug his fingers into Flash's arm. Flash's breath quickened, and his eyes moved behind his fluttering eyelids. The black surrounding him shivered like iron filings under a magnet and then suddenly...

Suddenly wrapped Flash up, skintight.

Then fell away again, like uncurling silk.

Eddie withdrew his hand, and the symbiote enveloped Flash again, and this time stayed like that, a slender Venom almost like Spider-Man's, with some more armored elements, and completely faceless. But then white bubbled up to form widening eyespots, and their mouth split open and—

They keened.

The white dripped across their face like tears.

" ** _Eddieeee...._** "

Eddie reached out again—clamped his hand around this Venom's wrist—they both jolted, all three of them, startling Betty back—Eddie and Flash and the shrieking symbiote, in a burst of tendrils, black and white falling away in ribbons and shreds.

Eddie found himself suddenly weak, but... nothing hurt.

A few smooth shreds of white sloughed from his skin, translucent and dried out like onion skin or rice paper.

Around Flash, the symbiote writhed, and then settled.

And then it sank into his skin and he was staring up at Eddie with damp eyes. He took a shaky breath and reached up for Eddie. Eddie and Betty helped him sit, and they both wrapped their arms around him. He pressed his face into Eddie's neck, smearing tears into his skin as he tried to gain his composure.

"W—" Flash took a deep breath. "We don't want forgiveness. We just—it just wants you to know—" Flash coughed, somewhere between trying not to cry and clearing his throat. "I—We—It's not gonna hurt you anymore, okay?" His voice cracked.

Eddie ran his fingers through Flash's hair, his own eyes wet—but he'd already cried enough. He found Betty's hand and grabbed it. Held them both close while Flash—the symbiote through Flash—sobbed into his shoulder.

They all sat wrapped around each other in a heap for what must have been an hour, as they calmed down, as Betty murmured meaninglessly (soothingly) and stroked both of their hair. And Eddie rubbed her back, and his fingers grazed hers occasionally on the back of Flash's head.

Flash just clung to them both until he got his breathing under control.

He wiped his eyes on his arm and finally let out a teary laugh.

"What's so funny?" Betty let her hand rest on the back of Flash's neck.

He shook his head. "It's uh—two people in there, it's a little weird." He tapped his ear with a finger. "Lots of emotions for a pile of goo."

Eddie pulled him into his lap and hugged him tightly, burying his nose in his hair.

"Hey, hey." Flash's arms came up around Eddie's torso. "I'm here."

Eddie buried his nose in Flash's hair with a deep breath. "I know."

***

 **Friday Night** :

"You doing okay?"

Eddie nodded.

They were arranged much like the night they befriended him—Eddie, in the middle, with Flash at his back and Betty in front of him. Betty's bed was a little more spacious than the couch, of course, as Flash dug his fingers into the taut muscles in Eddie's back. The symbiote was tucked away inside of Flash, with the clear understanding between them all that Eddie needed a lot of time before he would be able to see or touch it again and be okay. Even with the way it flitted into his desires and dreams. It was just too much, right now.

Betty kissed him, as Flash massaged his shoulders, both of them unimaginably gentle. Here and there, Flash pressed his lips to the back of his neck, or anywhere along the upper reaches of his spine, and Eddie felt himself melting into their combined touches.

Content, warm, and relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: crying
> 
> anyway my reasoning for this thing is—like, eddie never ended up with a full "symbiote," just a weird blood thing, so... the anti-venom used itself up and instead of completely cleansing the Venom symbiote from Flash, ended up just... cleansing the corruption, I guess? IDK it was all I could think of lol........   
> It'll probably be a long time before Eddie is okay having it around, though. Obviously longer than this fic covers.
> 
> Hope you liked it!


End file.
